Never Look Back
by Mummyluvr
Summary: Three months after Dean’s return from Hell, a sulfuric virus spreads across the world, killing off all but those with a “special” bloodline. The war has begun. Is it possible to march off without coming back different? Longer summary inside.
1. Hell and Back

**Title:** Never Look Back

**Author:** mummyluvr (Michelle Shavlik)

**Summary:** Dean's back, but there's not much time to celebrate. Within three months, a sulfuric version of the flu has spread, killing off all but those with a "special" bloodline. With the world gone to Hell and a deadly adversary rising in the East, the brothers have no choice but to march off to war. The question is, will they come back? And if so, will they ever be the same?

**A/N:** I'm really excited about this story. I first got the idea my sophomore year of high school (I graduated this year), and it's been knocking around in my head ever since. It started when I read The Stand by Stephen King., and came full-circle when I saw _The Happening_. I'm uber into this one, guys, so reviews are, as always, very welcome!

**Rating:** T (possibly +) for language and some graphic scenes

**Disclaimer:** I don't own _Supernatural_ and its characters. Kripke is the master, and it's his baby. Not mine.

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Never Look Back

_Chapter One_

_Hell And Back_

Long fingers pulled thread deftly through cold skin, green eyes narrowed in concentration, tongue slicking along rapidly drying lips as the hunter worked. He had to be precise, had to do this justice, had to make things right.

The final stitch went in. The thread was tied and cut. Sam Winchester leaned back in the hard chair, distanced himself from the table, wiped a large hand over his sweating brow. He stared at what he had done, the work of his hands, the product of his refusal to become what he was meant to be.

Dean looked better. He was still too pale, too cold, too lifeless to actually be Dean Winchester, but at least he was whole again. At least he wasn't hanging open, wasn't tattered and torn and ripped and shredded. At least he _looked_ like Dean. Maybe. A little.

Sam sighed. He closed his eyes, blocking out all sights, the little Hellhole he'd hunkered down in after the disaster in New Harmony. He'd taken his brother away from that damned house as soon as he'd fully realized what had happened. He'd killed his brother. He'd needed to fix that.

He'd taken Dean, carried him in his arms back to the Impala and laid him out in the back seat. He'd closed his brother's eyes. He'd driven through the night and into the day, cracking the windows as the car filled up with the smell of ripe death and regret. He'd sped into Pennsylvania, not caring about the police, about anything but getting Dean to safety, getting Dean away from any other demonic threats, getting Dean back together again.

He wasn't entirely sure how he'd wound up at Benton's old haunt, and he didn't really care. He'd cleaned the table, disinfected it, and stretched his brother out. He'd considered grabbing a shovel from the trunk and digging up the good doc, asking for help, but decided against it. Dean hadn't wanted that, and it was too late, anyway.

Besides, Sammy needed his eyes.

One close look at Dean was all he'd needed to realize that the damage wasn't as bad as it could have been. It was fixable, at least. The body was fixable. The body could be made whole. All it would need after that was a soul.

The hunter opened his eyes, rubbed at them, willing the bleariness away. He picked up the sheet he'd draped across the older man and covered him with it. It would only be a matter of time before he didn't need the sheet anymore, only a matter of time before Dean would pull it off himself and smile and chide Sam about turning the decaying cabin into a warm morgue.

And Sam would laugh. And he would cry. And he wouldn't feel so empty and alone and unwanted anymore. And he would have Dean, and Dean would have him, and they would go someplace safe and they would hide. They would spend the rest of their lives hiding and being safe and together and a family because now Sam saw that Dean hadn't been wrong to want that. Family was nice. He'd only had to lose his before he could realize it. He supposed Dean had, too.

Sam stood up, pushing all thoughts of a bright future out of his mind. The soul. He needed the soul. He needed the soul to go back into the body, and then he could think about the rest of his life. Right now, he just needed a soul.

He cleared a spot on the dusty floor before going back out to the car. He hated to leave Dean alone, as if he thought the older man might get up and walk off, might abandon him, might blame him for his death.

He grabbed chalk and candles and the other supplies that he'd gotten before New Harmony. He was happy to see that Dean was still there, still waiting for him, still trusting him.

The space on the floor was small, but it didn't matter. Sam was a better artist than he'd ever let on, and there was no specific size listed for the summoning ritual he was using. He just hoped that "far away" wasn't Hell, just hoped that she would hear him, would tell him what to do. He didn't care what it might do to him. He was ready to listen.

Once the ritual was complete, Sam stood. He waited. He stared straight ahead, and he waited, and he hoped, and he prayed, even though he was sure now that Dean had been right. There was no Higher Power. There was nothing watching over them. They were alone.

Sam was alone.

Something rustled behind him. Startled, Sam spun around, readying himself for attack. What he saw nearly stopped his heart.

Dean was sitting up straight on the table, staring at the wall. He turned his head slowly to look at Sam and smile before glancing down at his own chest, the criss-cross of stitches and now-broken tattoo, Sam's sad attempt to fix his own handiwork. The dead man shrugged. "Not perfect, but it's workable, at least." His eyes turned black.

Sam felt his stomach flip, felt bile rise in his throat. He should have known, should have anticipated the violation of the most sacred thing he'd ever held, ever carried, ever fixed. "Get out of him."

"Make me," Ruby challenged, crossing Dean's arms over Dean's chest as his eyes turned back to their usual hazel.

Sam glared at her, hatred rising steadily within him, bubbling up through him, boiling in his brain. His head hurt. His head hurt so bad, but he didn't care. He needed her _out._

He stepped forward, his stance threatening, face contorted in rage. He felt it in every fiber of his being, seeping from every pore. And his head hurt so bad. It pounded out a rhythm, a steady beat, like Dean's heart had before Sam had died, before he'd come back, before he'd screwed everything up so royally that it couldn't be fixed. He felt it inside him, rushing through his veins, the surety that he could get her out, all he needed to do was leave himself open.

_Open for what?_

It didn't matter. Dean mattered. Dean mattered, and Sam felt it, like a switch being flipped, like raw emotion being brought to the surface, like a white light heading toward him and over him and around him and in him but doing no harm, like a hand flung toward him, a feeble command, and the realization that he had… that he could… that he was…

"_Get out_!"

Every wall, every floor board, every instrument, jar, picture, book, shelf, _thing_ shook at the sound of his voice, the force of his command, the pure energy sent rolling toward the intruder in his brother's skin.

He felt it hit her. He felt it in his head, saw her eyes go wide and black as Dean's lips parted and released a cloud of dark smoke into the air.

Ruby sailed past him as Dean slumped forward, nearly toppling off the table. Sam ran to catch him, to right him, to close his mouth and eyes, to cover him. The man deserved respect.

He turned away from the table, wondering how he could have been so stupid, wondering why his head no longer hurt, why he suddenly felt dizzy, why his nose was running. He put a hand to his face and drew it away bloody. His nose was bleeding. He didn't care.

Above him, a door banged open. Ruby, no doubt, making her stunning reappearance. Another bang and footsteps. She was heading down the stairs, heading right toward him.

It was the same blonde as before, the same boring, bland, colorless bitch she'd picked as her own. Ruby stopped, glaring daggers, and assumed what Sam was starting to think of as her trademark pose: arms crossed over the chest, hip jutted out to one side.

"Sheesh," she remarked, "some people can't take a joke."

"Ruby-"

"But I'm glad you finally got the hang of it." She looked back at the covered table and smirked. "Little too late if you ask me, though."

"Tell me what to do."

"I'm sorry?"

"I want him back. I'm willing to listen now."

"Oh, _now_ you'll listen to me? Didn't you hear what I just said? Too little, too late."

He stepped forward, stepped right up to her, towered over her, his fists clenching at his sides. He knew what she was doing, could read her well. She wanted him to use it, wanted him to tap back in. If it meant saving Dean, he was more than happy to oblige.

He tried to focus, tried to call it without the anger, and found that it worked. It came easily. Almost too easily, as if it had been waiting for a release, the day when he accepted what he was.

_Only for a while,_ he told himself, willing himself to believe it, _only until I do it. Only until Dean's back. Then never again._

The switches were flipping, the same ones Ava had told him about an eternity ago, back in Cold Oak, back when life as he'd known it had truly ended. He felt it, and he sent it out at her, and he loved the sudden spark of fear in her stolen eyes.

"Tell me how."

"Fine," she said, smiling, "I will." She turned her face up toward his and he had to fight the urge to back away. He could still feel her lips on his, her hot breath against his face as he stood pinned and helpless, waiting for is brother's end.

She ran a finger down his cheek, under his nose, and gazed at the fresh blood there. "You really need to practice." She stuck the bloody finger in her mouth, savored it, still smiling. "Mm. My favorite. _Demon_ flavored."

"I gave you an order, bitch."

"I'm getting to it. Hold your four horsemen." She stepped back. "Get it?"

Sam glared at her, his anger rising. "_Now_." He felt it jump out of him, felt another switch flipping up, and grinned at the way she flinched back, cut by an invisible knife.

"You want your brother back so bad?" Ruby said, "fine. You have to go in and get him."

"What?"

"You heard me, AC. You have to go in and pull him out."

"You're kidding."

"Wish I was," she sighed, "but I'm not. Get yourself comfy and close your eyes. Concentrate. You should head right on into a trance-like state. From there, you just gotta go down, down, down till the flames get higher. You grab him, you pull him back. _If_ you can find him. Good luck." She turned to leave.

"Stop."

Ruby stopped, her form going suddenly rigid, her lips pulling back to reveal her teeth in a canine growl. "_What_?"

"You're not leaving," Sam said, finding that he liked this, the control, finally being the one to boss her around, to hold her fate, to make her dance for him, bend her to his will. "Not until I get my brother back."

She glared at him, her eyes turning oily black, but was compelled to obey. She had no choice. She sat down on the dusty ground and stared at him. "Better get to meditating, then. I don't have all night."

He glared right back, taking a seat on the dirty floor of the cellar. He let his eyes close, tried to make himself relax. He tried not to think about what he was doing, where he was thinking of going, the things he might see there. He only thought about Dean, about saving Dean, about making things right.

Sam sighed, telling himself to stop thinking. As much as he hated whatever that damned yellow-eyed bastard had done to him, he didn't have a choice but to trust it. He remembered Andy talking about meditating, Lily talking about killing her girlfriend, Ava controlling demons, Jake stabbing cool steel through his back. He thought about what Dean must have thought about, a lifetime alone, burying his brother. He thought about how that demon must have felt when her lips met Dean's.

He thought about Hell, about a prison made of bone and flesh and blood and fear. He thought about being alone for eternity, being in pain, having everything that made a person human stripped and boiled and carved away over the millennia. He thought about Dean walking willingly into the fire if it meant saving his charge, his brother, his Sammy. He thought about the repercussions of tapping into what he'd once deemed untappable, of becoming something that he wasn't, of losing Dean's Sammy.

He thought about all of these things as the temperature in the room rose steadily, as flames that he couldn't see licked at his face, as sweat poured down his body, washing the blood from beneath his nose even as it continued to spill.

He thought about Dean. He thought about saving his brother, of taking him out of his torturous eternal home, of taking him someplace better and safer and cooler and happier. He could feel his brother, smell the familiar mix of leather and blood and sweat, could hear the older man's hoarse voice calling out to him, begging, pleading, needing release.

Sam opened his eyes and nearly fell into the abyss. Lightning flashed around him, screams rose from the unending depths, and he balanced precariously on a single, rusted chain.

Slowly, shaking, he raised a hand to his face, rubbing the sweat away. It was dark. Dark and hot and hopeless. He wanted to leave, wanted to go back to the cellar in Benton's cabin, to make Ruby do this, to risk her everlasting soul.

And then he heard Dean's voice, barely a whisper, calling for him, for Sammy, for safety and hope and love and trust and life and _salvation_. One word held everything that he needed, and from the sound of things, he'd been screaming for a while.

Sam pulled himself from his fears and forced his head to turn, his eyes to focus. There were more chains around him, suspended, hanging. He could see something stuck in the web of chains, something dripping sweat and blood and tears, crying out weakly for someone that should have never come.

"Dean?" Sam's voice was barely a whisper over the screams, the roar of the inferno, but it seemed that Dean had heard him. The figure in the chains stilled, quieted, as if listening.

It was dangerous, he knew, but Sam began to slide across the chains, wobbling as he attempted to keep his balance, desperate to get to his brother. He nearly slipped once, decided that standing upright was too dangerous, and dropped down onto his stomach, wrapping his arms and legs around the warm metal and inching along like a caterpillar on a twig.

"Dean," he said, pulling his weight toward his brother at an agonizing pace, "Dean, hold on."

The figure suspended in the chains tried to turn, screaming out in pain with the action. As he drew closer, Sam could see why.

The chains holding his brother aloft were connected to him, digging into his wrists and ankles, his shoulder and side, held in place by large hooks that pulled the flesh from his body, sending cascades of blood down into the pit.

"Don't move," Sam ordered, "please, Dean, just don't move."

It was slow going, too slow for Sam, who felt sicker the closer he got to his brother. The older man's clothes were stained with blood and sweat, ripped by the hooks that tore into his skin and bones. The necklace Sam had given him all those years ago glinted weakly in the flashes of lightning, a beacon for the younger man to follow.

He finally reached Dean, his eyes brimming with tears over his brother's condition. His body had been relatively easy to repair, but the damage that appeared to have been done to his soul wouldn't go the same way. It was deep, it was strong, and it was wrong.

"Sammy?" Dean asked, his eyes dull, speech slurred as blood poured from his mouth.

"It's ok," Sam said, wrapping a hand around his brother's arm, careful to avoid his raw and bleeding wrist, "it's ok, I'm here now."

"Shouldn't be."

"I'm gonna get you out." But he had no idea how to do that, no idea how to save his brother, to get them both back. He realized with a sudden, sickening force that he didn't even know what he was doing.

Gulping back uncertainty, Sam began to inspect the chains that held his brother in place. The hooks cut through his skin, his bone, pulling his body taught in every direction at once. Getting the older man out wouldn't be easy.

"Ok," Sam said, his breath coming in short, rasping breaths as he assessed his options, "ok, um. This is gonna hurt like-" he stopped, a small smile forming on his lips as he caught sight of the look on Dean's face, "like _here_, I guess, but, um-"

"You gotta pull 'em out?"

"Don't talk. And, yeah. I'm sorry."

Dean tried to smile. "Don't be, long as you can get me out."

Sammy nodded, trying to decide where to start. He settled on the large hook embedded in his brother's shoulder. The only problem was the pull on the chains. They were too tight to simply slip out. "Dean?"

The older man gritted his teeth, his eyes closed tightly. "Just do it."

Sam nodded again, clenching his own teeth as he found his balance on the chain he was laying on and grabbed onto the large hook. He wrapped his legs more tightly around his perch, steadied himself, and pulled. Dean moaned as skin and muscle ripped, his blood running down and slicking the hook and chain.

It didn't take long for Sam to realize that he couldn't possibly pull the steel from his brother's body, not alone. He let his hold on it slacken as he closed his eyes and concentrated on what he had to do. He could feel something reaching out, an extra limb snaking toward the hook, grabbing hold, clinging tightly. He adjusted his grip and pulled again, this time willing the invisible limb to help.

Dean screamed through clenched teeth and the hook pulled free of his shoulder, ripping through his flesh and sending his broken collar bone splintering out into the open air.

Sam paid no attention to his brother's cries, the sickening squelch of tearing flesh, oozing wounds, breaking bones. He moved onto the older man's side, yanking steel out of his ribcage, through his skin.

He scooted himself farther back on his chain and finally opened his eyes, looking at his brother. Broken bones poked through his shredded flesh and blood flowed like two tiny waterfalls from the wounds. "I'm sorry."

Dean didn't say anything, just kept his eyes closed and panted, his tongue darting out of his mouth to wet parched, bloody lips.

"I'm gonna get your feet now, ok?" Sam said slowly, waiting for a nod. When he got it, he moved down, again closing his eyes and willing that invisible, telekinetic limb to help him. Again, Dean screamed, and Sam had time to marvel at the fact that he was still conscious. Then again, they were in Hell, and it wouldn't do to have someone pass out from the pain, become oblivious before the real torture started.

His brother was suspended by three limbs, and that only meant that the worst pain was yet to come. "Dean," Sam said, trying to get his brother's attention before ripping him completely free of his bonds, "one left. You know what that means?"

Dean nodded weakly. "How much weight you think they'll hold?"

"Honestly? I dunno. They look pretty rusted and weak."

"I think," Dean muttered, "even Kate Moss wouldn't stand a chance."

Sammy grinned. He'd missed that humor in the two weeks since his brother's death, had missed having someone to talk to, someone to keep him sane. He'd missed Dean.

"Don't let me fall," the older man whispered as his head lolled back.

"Never," Sam said, closing his eyes, readying to rip his brother from the prison that he'd willingly walked into. "Not again." Before he gave himself into the darkness of his mind again, he saw Dean smile.

He hated what he as about to do, what it meant. Taking the hook from Dean's foot would leave him suspended by his arms only, turning him down to hang vertically instead of horizontally. Either the chains would break, sending Dean falling into the abyss that spiraled beneath them, or something else would happen, something that neither brother wanted to consider.

Unfortunately, that was exactly what did happen. Sam broke the hook through his brother's foot, snapping tendons and bones and sending the other man swinging downward before the psychic could even attempt to grab him. There was a sickening sound as the hooks embedded in Dean's wrists pulled taut, ripping through the flesh and bone of his hands as they broke through.

Without thinking, Sam reached out to grab his brother, trying to keep his promise, and lost his balance as his hand connected with the torn fabric of Dean's shirt. The siblings tumbled through the air, Sam getting a firmer hold on his brother's broken body as they fell, wrapping strong arms around him, his stomach twisting into knots as the older man responded by leaning heavily into him, thankful to finally have some human contact.

They twisted in the air, tangled together, as they fell into the dark abyss. Through his fear, Sam tried again to clear his mind, to summon whatever had been activated the night his brother had died.

Slowly, the wind on Sam's face died down, the heat melting away, the sickening turning of his falling body slowing until he was sitting again on the floor of the cellar.

His eyes snapped open, his breathing hard as he took in his surroundings. Ruby was still there, staring at him. "Took you long enough," she said.

"Dean," Sam said, turning wildly, wincing as the room spun around him and two small droplets of blood fell from his nose to stain his pants, "where's Dean?"

She looked over his shoulder, back at the table where Dean's body lay motionless. Sam followed her gaze, watching with wonder as the sheet moved slowly up, then down. He was breathing. Dean was breathing.

Ignoring the spin of the room and the pounding of his head, Sam jumped to his feet and staggered toward the table. Dean sat up, pulling the sheet off of himself and looking at Sam with wide eyes. "It wasn't a dream?" he asked, his voice rough with lack of use. "You? How did you? I mean, Sammy, how the He-" his question was cut off by a sudden scream of pain as his hands shot to his stitched up chest. "Son of a-" he managed to gasp. "Geez, Sammy, butcher much?"

Sam just stood there and smiled. He'd done it. He'd faced his fears, headed into unfamiliar territory, and saved his brother's soul. Now all there was left to do was get Dean a shirt, wait for the cuts that marred his body to heal, get him to a tattoo parlor, and hit the road. They would put the whole ordeal behind them, and Sam would make sure to lock up the doors that he'd opened in his mind since Dean's death. Lock 'em up tight, and never look back.

Never look back.

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Well, there it is, the first chapter of many. I'd be ever so glad if you'd review and tell me what you think... I need the esteem boost :)


	2. Three Months Later

Thirteen reviews. Lucky number, huh? Well, here's chapter two. I'm planning on updating every other day, if anyone's wondering. And I finished it yesterday, so no worries there :)_

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_Chapter Two_

_Three Months Later_

The girl writhed and jerked in the chair, her head snapping up to lock demonic eyes with green and hazel ones. "You're never gonna win," she hissed, her voice low and threatening, even as the demon inside of her slowly lost its control.

"We'll see about that," Dean remarked, circling the chair as Sam continued to read the exorcism.

"The end is coming," the demon insisted. It turned the girl's mouth up into a horrible expression, something between a grimace and a smirk. "Soon, your kind will join us."

"Maybe not as soon as you think," Dean quipped as Sam uttered the final word of the exorcism and the girl's mouth opened to release the demon into the air. It spiraled up toward the ceiling before hitting the symbol the hunters had drawn and disappearing in a burst of light and fire.

The girl it had been inhabiting raised her head slowly to the young men, who were shocked to find that she was still alive. Ever since the Gate had been opened in Wyoming it seemed that the demons were riding their hosts exceptionally hard, killing the humans in the process. She was the first live one they'd seen since the child in New Harmony.

"I saw everything," she said, water leaking from her eyes as the boys began to untie her and help her onto shaky feet. "Everything it did… everything _I_ did." She turned large eyes to them. "Who are you?"

"Just your everyday Good Samaritans," Sam said with a smile.

"I'm Cami."

"Hi. Um. Yeah." He waited for her to say something or do something or move, but she just stood there and stared at him, as if waiting for the same thing. It figured, the first live host in nearly four months, and he was tongue-tied.

"So," she said slowly, "what do I do now?"

"Depends," Dean said, "you Catholic?"

"I wasn't, but I'm thinking of converting now. They deal with this stuff, right?"

He nodded. "If I were you, I'd find a priest and have a long sit-down."

"Will that really help?" she asked, her wide eyes roving over him.

"Will it make you feel better?" The girl nodded. "Then, yes, it'll help."

She nodded again, her eyes brimming with tears, and finally began to stumble toward the door. "Thank you," she yelled back as she left the room.

Sam and Dean looked at each other. "You sent her to Confession?" the younger man asked.

"Dude, I had to do something. She was really giving me the creeps. You sure we weren't dealing with a double-possession or something?"

"What, like two demons in one body? Is that even possible?"

Dean shrugged. "Dunno. But it would explain the weirdness."

Sam just smiled and began packing up the supplies they'd needed to paint the Trap and perform the exorcism. "Think she'll be all right?"

"Who knows." Dean paused, as if debating on whether or not to say what he was thinking, and watched Sam pack their bag. "Hey, I've been wondering…"

"Yeah?" Sam stuffed their flask of holy water into the duffle and looked up at his brother.

"Well… not that I would necessarily condone this kind of thing, but after what you did, you know, with me… wouldn't it just be easier to tell the demon to go back to Hell instead of reading through a whole exorcism?"

Sam zipped the bag up and stood, hefting the green duffle onto his shoulder. "Yeah, probably would. You know how to train 'em to do that?"

"Look, I get that you don't want to talk about it-"

"Then don't talk about it."

"Lilith tried to kill you," Dean stated, "she tried to kill you, but she couldn't. You gave our latest blonde bitch an order and she obeyed." He lowered his voice. "You saved me… somehow. You trying to tell me that that's un-talk-worthy? Because, seriously, dude, we've gone all Reese Witherspoon over less."

"There's nothing to talk about," Sam said, "it was a freak thing and it's never gonna happen again. So let's just drop it, huh?"

"You really think it's gonna be that easy? You think you can just think happy thoughts and everything that happened in New Harmony is gonna go away? Because it's not."

Sam dropped he duffle to the floor, realizing that his brother probably wasn't going to let him leave until they had a little heart-to-heart. "What are you saying, Dean? That you haven't tried to forget?"

"Oh, I've tried to forget, believe me, but what you did just keeps nagging at me. I was hoping you might be able to tell me why."

"I don't know. Maybe you're just obsessing. But nothing's happened since that night, you know that. No visions, no TK, no late-night soul-snatching. Whatever it was, however it popped up again, it's gone now. I say we just leave it at that."

They stared at each other again, both acknowledging the truth in Sam's words. Whatever he had tapped into in order to save his brother, he'd effectively tapped out of it once he'd gotten the older man back. And that was just going to have to be enough for the moment.

"Fine," Dean said, shrugging his shoulders, "sure, yeah, whatever." He headed out of the room, Sam at his heels. "Where to next?"

"I was thinking Bobby's. Either he'll have something lined up for us, or we can crash for a while."

"Think he'll have a beat on Ruby?"

Sam snorted. "Are you kidding? The bitch ran out of there like her 'still-human' soul was on fire. No. If she doesn't want us to find her, she won't be found. Not that I'm looking."

"Ditto," Dean agreed with a smirk. "Maybe Lilith, then."

"Don't see why we have to track her down," Sam said as Dean popped the trunk and stepped aside so he could toss the duffle bag in. "Not like our last meeting went all that well."

"You're really jonesing for a vacation, aren't you, Sammy?" He slammed the trunk lid.

"And you're not? It's been non-stop exorcisms since Jake opened the Gate. I think some time off would be well-earned and deserved, don't you?"

Dean nodded, heading around to the front of the car. "Bobby's it is, then."

Smiling, Sammy climbed in after him, reaching forward and turning up the volume on the old radio, hoping to keep Dean happy, keep his thoughts away from the start of the conversation.

True, it would be easier for Sam to simply tell a demon to go to Hell, to force it to return home with nothing but the power of his mind. Ruby had been easy enough to manipulate, after all. But the memories of that night, the way he'd felt, the things that whatever was locked inside of his head had done… it scared him. The whole ordeal scared him.

He could remember the anger, the determination, the sense of numbness that had seemed to crowd in, to narrow his vision. That numbness was what he had felt when the Trickster had played him, played them both, and he would be damned if he would go back to that. Sam wasn't a robot. He was a thinking, feeling _person._

He was normal, and he was going to stay that way.

o0o0o0o0o0o

Cameron Kingston was barely twenty-four years old, barely out of college, and barely aware of what she was doing. She could remember the awful voice in her head, the coldness that had surrounded her mind, the unbearable loss of control.

The demon had spoken of plans, of widespread sickness and famine, of death and disease. She had chalked it up to the nature of the beast, the fact that all demons lied and cheated and stole and were just horrible creatures in general.

Cami had been telling the truth when she admitted that she was thinking of converting. When she'd first been _violated_ by that demonic scum, her mind had gone to the Catholics in the movies, the ones about demons and ghosts and exorcisms. The Catholics dealt with that kind of thing. Unfortunately, the demon had taken over completely before she could get to St. Cecilia's.

Now, though, Cami was free and ready to give religion a shot. She walked calmly through the doors of the large church, her eyes widening at the beauty of the place, the rainbows of light thrown by the stained glass onto the thinly-carpeted floor.

A man was busy adjusting the hymnals in the pews, and she approached him slowly, cautiously. Her run-in with the demon had scared her, scared her enough to be a little skittish around new people, anyway.

"Excuse me, Father?"

The man turned and flashed a reassuring smile. "Yes?"

"I'm not exactly Catholic… not yet… but I need to Confess. Is that all right?"

The priest nodded, the calm smile never leaving his face. "Of course. God makes time for all of His children, no matter the nature of their beliefs. Follow me."

Cami did as she was told, crossing the church in the priest's wake and stepping into the confessional. She dropped to her knees and made a shaky sign of the cross as a wooden panel on the wall beside her was drawn back to reveal a screen through which she could barely make out the priest.

"Forgive me, Father," she whispered, her head down, hands folded, "for I have sinned."

o0o0o0o0o0o

Cami Kingston had sinned. The demon inside her hadn't been lying when it spoke of plans, of death, of disease. It was a martyr for its cause, its master's cause, the cause of a sadistic little girl.

Upon its arrival, the demon had planted something in Cameron, something that no one save a select few could possibly survive. It had planted the seed, then let itself get caught, knowing that the only way to spread its discord would be to abandon its place on Earth.

Cami, unwittingly, had become a carrier, one who had no idea what she was capable of, that she was being used. And after she had spread the demon's seed to others, she would perish, her job done.

She gave it to the priest as he spoke to her through the screen, giving her a penance to wash away her earthly sins. Neither of them knew that it wouldn't help, that nothing could help, that what had passed between them was a fate worse than death.

The priest released her, and then went to the back of the church, poured out new holy water, infecting every drop. He gave mass that night, handing out tainted wine and deadly bread, effectively killing each of his parishioners.

Those parishioners went home to their families, talked to their friends, spreading the seed even farther, damning even more people. Every friend, every friend of a friend, friend of a friend of a friend…

All it took was one trip overseas, and America suddenly wasn't the only one with an invisible, escalating problem on her hands.

It spread fast, faster than even the demons would have expected. As soon as they sensed it, felt it in waves across the country, they congratulated their leader. It was cleaner now, worked better, killed more effectively. Their time was coming, they could feel it in their non-existent bones.

By the time it reached South Dakota, Cami had started to cough.


	3. The Happening

All right. Hard to believe that it's been a whole two days since I last posted. It seems like an eternity since I'm so used to posting every day...

Thanks so much for the awesome reviews, guys. They really do make my day!

* * *

_Chapter Three_

_The Happening_

Dean leaned back on the couch, propping his feet up on a shaky pile of dust-covered books. He'd come to the conclusion since arriving at Bobby's for a short break that the older man definitely needed a little table in what counted as a living room. Books made horrible footrests.

He grabbed the remote, flipping channels on a television that apparently hadn't been used since the eighties. Imaged blurred past, but none of them could hold his attention, not like the thing sitting in the other room could.

The thing in question was Sam, of course, his face stuffed into a yellowing tome as he did whatever it was that he did when he wasn't angsting over something or being all emo. Dean had a feeling that he knew exactly what his brother was doing, and it wasn't something good. He was looking for trouble, trouble that started with a capital 'L' and stared out at the world through once-innocent eyes turned deadly white.

He didn't have the heart to stop the kid, though. He never had, not until things had gotten down to the wire and hellfire leapt into view. But that had been a matter of life and half-life, good and evil, and this was just research. After all, no harm ever came from reading a book.

He smiled, staring through the open doorway at his geek of a brother, wondering exactly what kind of Hell the younger man had been through in his absence. He glanced down at his own chest, running a hand absently over the small scars that criss-crossed his skin under his shirt, the newly repaired tattoo that promised to protect him from possession.

What kind of Hell? Try stitching what was left of his brother back together again, then doing… _something_ to get him back. They hadn't really talked about it, but Dean had to admit that he was curious. From what he'd gathered, Sam had just meditated, meditated straight into the pit.

That still didn't explain everything, though. It didn't explain the new spark of fear in Ruby's stolen eyes, the speed with which she had fled the cabin once Sam had given her the go-ahead. Once Sam had _ordered_ her out.

It didn't explain the nose bleeds that followed his brother's journey into the flames, the droplets of blood that leaked from his nostrils off and on for nearly a week.

It sure as Hell didn't explain what Dean had felt down there, what had happened. He wasn't sure how to describe it exactly, just knew that it wasn't what he'd expected, that in that single instant, that moment when Sam latched on and they fell, he'd known things. He'd felt things. He'd sensed things.

He was positive now that his brother could tap into whatever that demon had put inside of him, activate it, and still remain Sam. Their father had been wrong in his assumption that the youngest family member would go dark side. Dean knew that, had sensed it, had felt it written across his brother's soul in big red letters that promised not to lie.

He knew what Sam had sent into Hell to get him out. It was the only thing that a person _could _send to Hell. Dean had been rescued by his brother's soul.

He knew that it sounded crazy, and that was the exact reason he would never tell Sam, but he was sure of it. He'd seen his brother's soul. It wasn't dark, wasn't deadly, wasn't evil. There were no imperfections. It was pure, unmarred, _good_. And it had saved him.

While they had been falling, as chains and death and destruction and hopelessness swam around them, he had curled up against his brother, the soft skin, the warm breath, the all-encompassing grasp of something strong and safe and loving. He had only spent two weeks in Hell, according to Sam, but it had seemed like an eternity. He'd leaned into his brother, leaned into Sam's _soul_, and learned everything that he'd needed to quell any fears he might have.

In that single moment, the time between the shredding of his imaginary hands and the drop back into his carefully repaired body, he'd seen into his brother's soul. He'd seen Sam fixing him, had felt the raw pain, the fear, the uncertainty. He'd seen Ruby flinching away as something sharp and strong and new was unleashed upon her. He'd seen and felt the goodness that Sam didn't know he possessed, the control that he could have if he only tried.

He'd seen his brother's soul, felt his brother's heart, and then he got cold for the first time in what seemed like a lifetime. He'd sat up, gotten out a few raspy, muddled questions, and then pain had burned through his body, and all thoughts of Hell, of souls, of potential were wiped from his mind. There was only pain, only cold, only _Sam_.

He watched the younger man through the doorway and wondered if, in that moment when Sam had caught him, when they'd been connected, tumbling through space and time and hellfire, he'd experienced the same thing. He wondered if Sam had seen _him_, felt _him_, known _him_. He was scared of that.

While Sam had been pure, unmarked, and good, Dean had been bloody, sweaty, tortured. He'd been broken. He had secrets- horrible, burning secrets. He had wants- horrible, selfish wants. He wasn't a bad person, just… not perfect. Not whole. He was ripped and shredded, unreal bones poking through the flesh of a tarnished soul. In a word, he deemed himself unworthy.

If Sam had felt something like that, though, he hadn't said anything. And who knew, maybe he'd been protected by what he was? Maybe his willingness to be there, his mission of salvation, had saved him from getting an unkindly glimpse at big brother.

Maybe Dean had actually lucked out for once in his life.

He turned his attention away from Sam and back to the TV, deciding that it was probably better not to wonder too much about his daring rescue. He turned up the volume, flipping through a couple of channels before settling on CNN. Sam was convinced that a group of elementals had been plaguing the Midwest, causing horrible flooding and an unusually high number of twisters. Dean argued that Mother Nature was simply a bitch, but Sam had given him the puppy-dog eyes and he'd promised to keep tabs on the nation's natural disasters.

He turned up the volume a bit more as Sam wandered into the room, plopping down on the couch beside him and staring at the TV. "Anything new?"

"Levee's down in Des Moines. They keep flashing pictures of that campsite, too. Damn tents stood up against the thing, but the whole building crumbled. You ever hear of anything like that?"

Sam shook his head. "No. What about the rest of the country?"

"Activity's still stationed in the same place. I'm thinking it's just Tornado Alley."

"Dean-"

"Unless you want to start looking into every quake in Asia? Who knows, maybe Godzilla decided to make an appearance after all."

"No-"

"Or how about the fires out in California? Could be a dragon."

"Dean, look." Sam pointed at the screen, where the boring newscaster had stopped talking about tornadoes and started in about something else. "Turn it up some more."

The older man did as he was told, leaning forward to watch the news report. The pictures themselves were disconcerting enough, showing long funeral processions intersecting on their ways to different cemeteries, men in white biohazard suits pushing covered tables down halls, entire floors in hospitals under quarantine.

"This is an outbreak like one we've never seen before," the newscaster said, taking a moment to pull a handkerchief out of his pocket and blow his nose. There was just a hint of fear in his eyes as he sniffled. "We're here with Stuart Andros, a private practice doctor out of Cincinnati. Tell us, Doctor, what are we looking at here?"

The picture changed to show a man in his mid-forties, his eyes tired and bloodshot, skin pale, hair graying. "We're looking at a pandemic, Larry. At first it was thought that, whatever this was, it was prevalent only in America, but there are now reports popping up in Japan, England, Greece, and Scotland."

The brothers looked at each other, confusion in both their eyes. They'd barely been at Bobby's for a week, had been watching the news reports steadily, but they hadn't heard anything about people getting sick.

"And what are some of the symptoms that people should look for, Doctor?" the newscaster asked, pulling the Winchesters' attention back to the screen.

"Apparently," Andros said, "this is some recently mutated string of the flu. It has diverse symptoms, everything from a runny nose and watery eyes to coughing and vomiting."

"Is it treatable?"

The doctor paused, licking his lips, trying to hold back a stray cough. "As far as I know, the CDC is all over this thing. They're looking for the active strain to try and develop a vaccine, like they would for the typical strains of influenza."

"And how's that going?"

Andros averted his eyes, looking down at his hands, which he'd clasped together on the desk in front of him. "I've treated a few of these patients myself," he admitted slowly, "and we've done autopsies and blood work on all of them."

"What are you finding," the newscaster asked, "if it's in your power to tell the public?"

"Nothing. We're not finding anything, Larry. When the patients come in, they seem to have an elevated level of sulfur in the bloodstream-"

"And that's bad?" Larry interrupted.

"Not necessarily. Anyone in high school chemistry can tell you that all humans have trace amounts of sulfur in them. To be completely honest, the levels that we found weren't even that high, comparatively. There doesn't seem to be any connection, at least."

"Not that you can see," Dean muttered, his mind going back to the incident in River Grove, the town taken over by insane, infected people, and his brother's immunity.

"And after the deaths, any extra sulfur seems to disappear. We've tried to isolate the strain after death, wanting to cause as little distress to the patients as necessary, but it just seems to vanish."

"People are dying?" Sam asked, glancing at his brother before turning back to the TV. Dean turned it up some more.

"How fatal is this particular strain of the flu?" Larry asked, his voice quiet, scared.

"As far as we know," Dr. Andros said, "every case is fatal… and there seems to be a very high communicability rate."

"How high?"

Andros cleared his throat. "Around ninety-nine per cent."

The camera cut back to the newscaster, who was staring out at the viewers with wide, glassy eyes- the eyes of a sick man. "That's high," he whispered, "that's very high."

Dean aimed the remote at the television and hit the power button, silencing Larry and his guest. He set the remote down on the couch and scrubbed a hand over his face. "That _is_ high," he muttered.

"And fatal," Sam added, "don't forget fatal."

"But, you know, hey, maybe we'll finally luck out over something and land in that one per cent, huh?"

Sam turned to him, his face devoid of hope. "You really think that's possible?"

"No. I think we're both gonna die. Again."

The younger man grinned. "You realize we're the only people in the world that can truthfully say that?"

Dean chuckled. "Our lives are weird."

"Afterlives are weirder."

That earned a laugh from big brother, and it didn't take Sam long to join in. For a moment in time, it was like nothing had changed, like Sam had never left, John had never died, Jake had never become a traitor, and Dean had never revealed what he believed to be his worth. For just a minute, they were simply brothers, just living life, having a good time. And then they heard the cough.

Both boys stopped laughing immediately, their faces paling at the harsh sound following so closely on the heels of the depressing news report. They stared at each other, waiting for the admission, the simple statement of sickness, the beginning of a whole new worry. When neither brother fessed up, they both turned.

Bobby had just walked through the front door, grease coating his hands and shirt. He took a handkerchief out of his back pocket and blew his nose. He turned to see Sam and Dean staring at him, their mouths agape, unable to believe what some second-rate newshound and his hack of a guest had said now that it was staring them so blatantly in the face.

"You boys all right?" Bobby asked, attempting to wipe his hands clean on his jeans and failing miserably. They just kept staring. "What is it?"

"You coughed," Dean said at exactly the same time Sam uttered, "you sneezed."

Bobby blinked. "That a crime?"

Dean was the first to really break from his stupor. "Are you sick?"

Bobby shrugged. "Touch of the flu, I think." He shook his head, as if dismissing the conversation, and then headed up to his room to get cleaned up before dinner, leaving the brothers to silently stare at each other and face their closest friend's fast-approaching mortality.

* * *

... And now all the Bobby fans hate me. Well, that sucks...


	4. Immunity

Wow. Seems like everyone's really concerned for Bobby. You wanna know if he makes it? Read on..._

* * *

_

_Chapter Four_

_Immunity_

Bobby had held out for a week, had fought valiantly as coughing turned to hacking, hacking to vomiting, vomiting to death. He'd been so weak in the end that he could barely talk, couldn't even sit up. He'd struggled to breathe.

Both brothers had been amazed at the speed with which the virus had spread. It had seemed like one day Bobby had a simple cough, and then there had been blood, and then he couldn't keep anything down, and then…

They had stayed by his side, day and night, in shifts, even when the older man had tried to tell them he was fine. Sam had gone out after hearing the first cough and checked the local pharmacy for anything over-the-counter that might help. There had been nothing, the shelves bare, workers astonished at how fast they'd cleaned out. They had an epidemic on their hands, and people were scared.

Dean had tried an exorcism, on the off-chance that the virus had been demonic in nature. Bobby had rolled his eyes, his head lolling slightly to the side as he was splashed with holy water, but nothing happened.

He had another idea, one that he'd almost been too scared to mention to Sam. What if it had been the Croatoan virus, or a strain of it? If that was the case, then Sam would be immune, and that immunity was probably carried in his blood. Maybe a few drops would be all it would take to cure Bobby.

Sam had paled at the idea of it. Dean had persisted; just a prick of his finger or a small cut on his arm- _on my wrist,_ Sam had thought, and shuddered- and the nightmare might be over. At least they would have tried.

They hadn't tried, and Dean couldn't help but feel that they'd failed as he built up the pyre for his friend's corpse. He stepped away from the mass of the wood, allowing Sam the space he needed to lay their friend out.

Sam stepped away from the body and nodded to Dean, signaling for him to drop the match. Fire sparked to life and smoke twirled into the sky as the brothers stood in silence, watching their friend burn.

"Doesn't seem real," Sam finally said, his voice choked with tears.

"Checked the news this morning," Dean said, "and it's, uh, it's getting worse out there. They don't have enough room for the bodies in the morgues anymore, so they, uh, they set up a system to get rid of them."

"They're cremating them?"

Dean glanced at him, then turned back to the fire. "They're dumping them into rivers. And half the people doing the dumping are sick, too. Suicide rate's skyrocketing."

Sam sighed. "What are we gonna do?"

"We're gonna wait. We're gonna wait and we're gonna see."

"See what?" It was clear that Sam didn't want to know the answer, that he knew what his brother was thinking, but he felt that he had to ask anyway. The virus was spreading, and if it really was what Dean thought it was, the younger man was immune.

"If I'm next."

Sam swallowed hard. "You're fine. We both are."

"For now," Dean said, his eyes never leaving the fire as it sparked and crackled, "but tomorrow? Hell, maybe even later today."

"No." There was firm resolution in Sam's voice, a hardness that the older man hated putting there. "No. Not again. Not yet. Not for a long time."

"Sammy-"

"No."

The discussion was ended with such harshness that only silence could follow. Silence, and the popping of the wood as it burned, sending the ashes of Bobby Singer into the heavens, along with his soul.

The brothers waited until the fire had died down, until the pyre was nothing more than a smoldering pile of ash, before they headed back into the house. Just the sight of the old building hurt, the knowledge that there would never be anyone to welcome them back into the building, the sense that loneliness was crowding in, that they really were cursed, that everyone they had ever loved was doomed to death.

The house wasn't empty. The TV had been turned on, and someone sat on the couch, watching the news play across the screen. A blonde head shook at the sight of all the deaths.

Ruby turned as she heard the brothers enter the room, her eyes going wide as she took in their sooty, disheveled figures. "Where've you been?"

"What do you want?" Sam asked, too tired and sickened by grief to come up with a witty response.

"Just to make sure you two are still alive. Congrats on that, by the way."

"Yeah, same to you," Dean sneered.

"Wouldn't worry about me," Ruby said. "Not sure if you figured it out yet, but demons are immune."

"So you _did_ do this," Sam said.

"Didn't your daddy ever teach you not to jump to conclusions?" she scolded. "I was as shocked as you are. Half expected Katie here to crap out on me in the beginning."

"Katie?" Dean asked.

"The host," Ruby explained. "What, you thought she was some nameless slut I plucked off the corner of Fifth and Bring-Your-Own-Gun? I _do_ have taste, you know. As long as I'm here, she's fine."

"Didn't your mommy ever tell you not to jump to conclusions?" Dean said, drawing the knife he'd stolen from her so long ago. "Maybe she just wants someone to put her out of her misery."

"You know," the demon said, assuming her trademark pose, "you should really thank me for letting you keep my knife so long."

"Tell us what you know about the virus," Sam said.

"I don't know anything. I just know that the demons aren't dying and somehow they're keeping the hosts from getting sick, too. That, and almost everyone else is dead or dying."

"Why aren't we sick?"

She shrugged. "No clue. I don't get the newsletter."

"Do you know anything?" Dean asked.

"I know that you're an idiot."

"Clever." He smirked. "Give me one reason to let you out of this house alive."

"Oh, I don't know," Ruby said, "maybe because I'm currently your only tie to the demonic side?"

Both boys were saved trying to think up a decent comeback by a pounding at the door. They glanced at each other, shot Ruby a warning look, and then went to answer it.

The door was visibly shaking in its frame by the time the brothers got there, Dean making sure Ruby's knife was held at the ready before Sam opened the door. The pounding stopped as he pulled the rotting wooden slab away from its frame to reveal a woman, maybe in her early twenties or late teens, staring up at them through thin glasses.

"You have to help me," the woman gasped, barging into the house.

"Uh, miss…" Dean began, hiding the knife behind his back, just in case.

"Please," she said, spinning around to face them as Sam closed and locked the door. "She's after me. She wants to kill me." There was panic apparent in her green eyes, made all the more noticeable by the scuffs of dirt on her face and the small rips in her clothing.

"Who's after you?" Sam asked.

The girl's eyes turned black. "Lilith."

Sam was on her before she even had time to react to his movement. She was shoved unceremoniously through the house and into a chair, which rocked backwards as her weight connected with it.

"What was that for?" she demanded.

"You're a demon."

"No duh, Einstein," Ruby said, walking into the room and eyeing the chair, her gaze traveling up to the recently repaired symbol painted on the ceiling.

"Leave," Sam said, glancing over at the blonde as Dean stepped into the room.

"Make me," Ruby challenged, stepping up to him and staring him square in the eye, daring him to do what he'd sworn he never would again.

"No," Sam answered.

"I will," Dean offered, holding up the knife, which Sam deftly snatched from his brother's hand.

"No, you won't. You'll kill the host."

Ruby sighed, again crossing her arms over her chest as the demon sitting by the fireplace watched the exchange. "Fine. Be that way." The blonde stalked toward the door, hips swaying with annoyance. She turned back at the door. "I want my knife back, though."

Sam smirked, raising the weapon over his head. "Come and get it," he challenged.

Ruby huffed at him and spun back around, walking out the door and letting it slam shut behind her.

"One down," Dean said, turning toward their newest arrival, "one to go."

"This isn't what you think," the demon in the chair said, sighing as she looked up at the trap. "I'm not gonna hurt you."

"That's cute," Dean grinned, "'cause, you know, we've never heard that one before."

"I'm serious." She looked at Sam, her eyes lingering on his lanky frame. "I'm yours."

Dean looked at Sam, looked at the demon, back at Sam. "Awkward."

"I'm ready to follow you," she clarified. "I'm sorry about before, I really am, but-"

"Before?" Sammy interrupted. "Who are you?"

The demon hung her head. "Your brother shot my daddy in the head."

"Meg," Dean muttered, missing the hidden quote, the way Sam stiffened at the words, "should have known. And it was the heart, bitch."

"I know that I'm the last thing you guys want to have a conversation with right now, but-"

"You mentioned Lilith," Sam said, "what's she got to do with this?"

Meg sighed, relaxing a little in the chair. "Everything."

"What's everything?" Dean asked, "and try to talk fast. We don't got all day."

The demon nodded. "When my father was planning for the war, he tested out different methods of getting people to fight for him. He would choose a small population, and then release whatever it was into the area and see what happened. You guys happened to be there once, the second test of the Croatoan virus."

Dean nodded. "River Grove, yeah. What was he trying to do?"

"He'd already created the virus to target a person's baser instincts: rage and survival. The survival of the virus, anyway. He just needed to make sure that if he released it over a larger population, his trusty general would be immune." She looked up at Sam. "That's you."

"Yeah," he said, "got that. Thanks."

"So this is the same virus?" Dean asked.

"No," Meg said, "not the same one, exactly. It's a different strain. After daddy died, Lilith broke into the place where he'd kept all the samples and stole one. I guess she tweaked it a bit."

"I'll say," Dean offered.

"It's airborne now," the demon elaborated, "easier to spread. And the people who get infected don't become homicidal. Before, their main job was to spread the virus, and they did that by blood. Now they don't need to. Now they just have to die. They get to suffer before, though. Before and after."

"After?" Sam asked, "what do you mean, after? After they're dead?"

"It's demonic. And Lily's a sadistic little bitch. I don't know what it does now, exactly, but somehow it not only targets the body, but the soul."

"It infects people's souls?" Dean asked, his tone incredulous. "Come on."

"Think about it," she reasoned, "more people heading down there now means more demons in the future. Reinforcements."

"Everybody who dies from this thing goes to Hell?" Sam asked, obviously thinking of Bobby.

"Every. Damned. One."

"And why, exactly are you telling us this?" Dean asked, trying to hide the look in his eyes and failing like he always did, unable to curtain the window to his soul.

"You need to know," Meg said, looking between them, "you need to know because they're coming for you."

"Who's coming for us?" the older man questioned.

"Not you," she clarified. "_Sam_. We were willing to wait before, before it all escalated. We would let him take his time, would stay low and alive until he stepped up, but now? Now it's _war_, and we're scared and defenseless and weak without a leader. Popular belief is, if he won't find us, we should find him."

"Oh, you hear that, Sammy?" Dean said, "you're like a big psychic beacon."

"Shut up, Dean." The psychic glared down at Meg. "How do they know I'm not dead?"

"Because you're immune," she answered, "all your kind are."

"Why?" Dean asked.

She turned to look up at him. "The immunity's carried in the blood."

"So?"

"So…"

Dean stared at her, his face blank. "What are you saying, bitch?"

Meg faked a gasp of shock. "Didn't Sammy tell you?"

The older hunter looked at his brother. "Tell me what?"

"Um." Sam cleared his throat. "When the, uh, when the demon took me to Cold Oak, it kinda showed me something."

"Showed you what?"

Sam ducked his head, averting his eyes from his brother's piercing gaze. "The past. Mom. What… happened."

The harshness left Dean's features instantly. "Sammy…"

"No, it stopped before that. But, it showed me what it was doing there."

"What?"

Sam sighed, readying for a confession he'd hoped he would never have to make. "It stood over my crib, cut its wrist open, and let the blood fall." He paused, wondering if he should go on or just leave it at that, try to keep his brother's opinion of him good. Judging by the look on Dean's face, though, he'd already figured it out. "Into my mouth," Sam finished, his eyes still downcast.

The room was silent for a long time, no one daring to be the first to speak after the confession. Dean just stared at his brother, the shaggy mop of hair that covered the kid's eyes. No wonder Sam hated what he was, what he could do. He thought he was evil.

But he still hadn't seen what Dean had seen, felt what Dean had felt. And Dean knew him better than anyone else, better than Meg or Azazel or Ruby. Dean knew what he was, who he was. He was good, sweet and decent to his soft and sugary core. Not an evil bone in that freakishly tall body.

"So you got demon blood in you," Dean said, shrugging. "Good thing, too. Can't have you dying on me again. Not sure if you noticed, but I don't _do_ alone well."

Sam's head snapped up. "You're not mad?"

"Well, I'm a little pissed you didn't tell me sooner, but come on, Sam. You're not evil."

"You keep saying that, but you can't know-"

"I know," Dean said. "Trust me." He turned back to Meg. "So the immunity's carried through the blood. Doesn't explain why I haven't kicked it yet."

The demon smiled. "That's because Sammy didn't tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth."

Sam glared at the demon, deciding to take the bait. "So help me, God…"

"What did you leave out, Sam?" Dean asked, cutting off his brother's slightly murderous thoughts about the demon under the Trap.

"I saw mom." He said slowly.

"Thought we'd established that."

"I saw mom," he tried again, "and she knew the demon."

Dean looked back at Meg. "Talk."

She shrugged. "Dad had been going to psychics for years. He was waiting for just the right generation to lead the army, marking every one he could find."

"Marking us?" Sam asked.

Meg nodded. "Some people are born with psychic abilities. Dad started ferreting them out in the 1500s. He amped up whatever abilities they had and marked them at the same time by doing the whole 'blood brothers' thing. The blood was passed down the lines, from generation to generation." She looked at Dean and smiled. "That's why you haven't gotten sick, yet. You got a dose, too. Smaller than Sam's, sure, because he got a second, but apparently enough to keep you alive."

"Our mom was psychic?" Dean questioned.

"Yeah. And her dad. And his mom. And her mom. And on, and on, and on. Your kids'll have it, too, if you chuckleheads ever find a woman stupid enough to actually mate with you."

"So, what about the other generations?" Sam asked.

"They'll be fine, too."

"And you're telling us this because you don't want us to kill Sam's army," Dean said, "right?"

"That, and I might have my own agenda."

"Knew it."

"It's not what you think." Meg defended. "When dad died, he left us defenseless. As far as Lilith was concerned, we were the enemy. Dad had tagged Sam to lead the army, we were bound to follow him, and that threatened the little bitch. She had us hunted down and killed like dogs. I'm the last one left of my family."

"You think we're gonna trust you because of that?" Sam asked.

"No," she said. "But I was hoping you could help me. She's gonna send me back to Hell. She's gonna trap me there. Forever. No way out." She looked up at Dean. "Imagine that. Being stuck there. No hope of salvation. No hope of escape. She's gonna do that with very member of our side that she can find."

"I don't have a side," Sam said, "there is no side. I'm not some leader in your war."

"Well, you're gonna have to be," she countered, "because I'm just the first. You're shining, Sam. We were told by my father that you would protect us and lead us and fight with us. There are more like me out there, that stayed faithful, and they're coming."

"Faithful," Dean scoffed. "You tried to make me kill him."

"I didn't want to follow a human, but when I heard about how Sam came back, how he was finally fighting, how scared Lilith was… I guess I just figured that daddy was right after all."

Dean nudged his brother's shoulder, nodding toward the nearest door. They left the demon under the trap and walked into the cluttered kitchen. "What do you think?"

"I think she's nuts," Sam said. "Totally and completely insane."

"But she has a point. Remember that demon that trapped me in the cellar back in Ohio? She said she was one of yours. She was just waiting for you to step up, and when you didn't, the whole army got out of whack and started jockeying for position. It was chaos. It makes sense that there are more of them just waiting for you to make a move."

"But I don't want to make a move."

"Honestly," Dean said, "I don't think it matters anymore. You _have_ to make a move."

"Why?" Sam asked, crossing his arms over his chest and jutting out his chin, obviously annoyed.

"Because if you don't, someone else will. Maybe one of those other psychics. Its only gonna be them and demons after this is over. They're gonna need a voice of reason."

"I'm not leading the demon army, Dean. I'm not. So just drop it already."

Dean stared at him, sizing him up. "All right. But we can't stay here."

"Why? Because they're coming for me?"

"No, because anyone with a psychic in the family is gonna live, and most of those people don't know demons exist. What if, in your absence, a group of demons decides that one of _them_ would make a good leader?"

Sam sighed. "That would be bad."

"Yeah, it would."

"But where are we gonna start?"

Dean shrugged. "Missouri, maybe? That guy Rufus, the one that sold Bela out to us, he had a decidedly creepy, psychic vibe. Or that baby in Salvation, the one that we didn't let Yellow-Eyes get his…" he trailed off, memories he'd tried hard to bury suddenly bubbling to the surface, the sound of snapping bone as metal was ripped through flesh.

"Dean?"

"The one he couldn't get his hooks into." He glanced up at Sam, saw the troubled look on the younger man's face, and forged ahead. "What was her name? Rosie?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah. Rosie." He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "So, what, we head back to Salvation and ask the family to come with us so we can protect them from the demons?"

"What's left of the family, yeah."

"What about Meg?"

"Leave her," Dean said.

"She can get out," the younger man reminded him.

Dean smirked. "That's what she thinks."


	5. Heredity

Hey, guys. Just wanted to let you know that updates might not be as regular for a while. Right now I'm feeling kind of under the weather, and we're leaving for Colorado on Sunday. I've been assured that there's wi-fi in the cabin we're staying at, so I should be able to update there. Just keep your wyws open for new stuff!_

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_Chapter Five_

_Heredity_

Cars had stalled out on the roadsides, in the middle of the streets, crashed into trees, their drivers long dead. A smell permeated the sticky air, causing the brothers to roll up their windows and shut the vents in an attempt to escape it.

"Where did these people think they were going?" Dean asked, his hands locked in a death grip on the steering wheel, his eyes never leaving the car-clogged road before them.

"To see family, maybe?" Sam guessed.

Dean just sighed and shook his head. The cars flashed by, even at the slow speed needed to avoid a collision. Ahead of the Impala, smoke curled into the sky from the smoldering remnants of a head-on crash.

"That's the fifth one in two days," Sam commented as they passed it. "What happened out here?"

"Demonic virus," Dean answered, "what else?"

"You really believed her?"

"Doc said there was sulfur in the blood," the older man reminded him, "and that all signs of infection left after death. Sounds familiar."

"But everything else-"

"What? The stuff about demons coming for you? That sounds familiar, too."

"No, Dean. The _other_ thing. About their souls."

Dean cleared his throat, still staring out through the windshield. "What do you think?"

"I don't know what to think," Sam muttered, leaning his head against the window and staring at the car-cluttered countryside. He sighed. It was too much. Too much, too fast.

He hadn't asked for this, for any of it. He just wanted his brother. No demon army, no mass of black smoke ferreting him out, no grand leadership position. Just Dean. He'd gotten that, with an added bonus of immunity.

He wondered how Dean was taking it. With the older man it was hard to tell, always had been. He was a closed book, shut in on himself for reasons unknown by even his closest of friends.

Sam had taken it hard. After Jess's death, plagued by nightmares and visions, he'd taken it very hard. It wasn't possible. He couldn't be psychic. He was _normal_.

For the longest time after that, he'd been jealous of Dean. Dean was what he wanted to be. Dean was human. That was what made what he did so great. He didn't have any freaky powers. He was just _Dean_. He didn't have demon blood in him.

Or, at least, that was what Sam had thought. Apparently, he'd been wrong. Dean wasn't human. He was freak. He was half the freak Sam was, but still a freak, nonetheless.

He was waiting for the inevitable freak-out, the fight that was bound to come, Dean against heredity. He was surprised the older man hadn't dismissed the demon's claims yet, was surprised that he hadn't tried to rally against destiny. Dean wouldn't take being so close to something they hunted lying down, would he?

"Where do you think Bobby is?"

Sam shook his head, pulling himself from his thoughts as he turned to face his brother. "What?"

"Bobby. Where do you think he went?"

"Are you asking me if I believe Meg?"

Dean shook his head. "Just want to know."

"I think she might have been on to something," Sam said. "After all, she was pretty close to Yellow-Eyes. She's crawled out of Hell at least twice. Maybe she knows something."

"What if she was right?" Dean asked, his voice soft, eyes never leaving the road, even as they crossed onto a relatively clear stretch of pavement. "What if she was right about their souls? What if all of those people that died went to Hell?"

"Well-"

"What if _Bobby_ went to Hell?"

Sam blinked. So that was why Dean hadn't mentioned what Meg claimed to be their family bloodline, their inheritance. He was too busy focusing on the other things she'd said. "Bobby?"

"He was sick, Sam," Dean said, his voice cracking as he tried to hold back some emotion that his brother couldn't identify. Maybe sadness, maybe fear, maybe anger. "He was sick. What if-?"

"He's not in Hell," Sam said, thankful to see the familiar sign that welcomed them to Salvation fly by. He really wasn't in the mood for this conversation; not now, not ever.

"How can you know that?"

"Because Bobby was a good person."

"Sometimes that doesn't matter," Dean said softly, "sometimes good people go to Hell."

"Yeah, but-"

"He doesn't deserve it."

"Maybe he's not even there," Sam said. He wished that the roads were clearer, that fewer people had decided to try and drive while infected, that they could speed up.

"He's there," Dean argued, "he's there, but he doesn't have to be." He glanced over at Sam for the first time since hitting the road. There was a spark of hope in his eyes. "You can get him out."

If Sam had been driving, he would have slammed on the brakes. "_What_?"

Dean cleared his throat, the sound sending shivers down Sam's spine as he remembered how it had started with Bobby. A cough here, a sneeze there. But Dean was immune. He hoped.

"You got me out," the older man said, his voice soft. "You could save Bobby, too."

"Ok, first of all, we're not even sure he's there. For all we know, Meg could be lying." Sam sighed, running a hand through his shaggy hair. "Besides, I'm never doing that again."

"But-"

"No buts," Sam snapped. "You might be all right with being some kind of psychic freak, but I'm not." There. He'd said it. All there was left to do was gage Dean's reaction.

"You're not a freak." Ok. Not what Sam had been expecting. "But you _can_ save him."

Sam shook his head. "I promised myself-"

"But you did it for me."

"You're my brother."

"And he was like a father to you."

"No," Sam said. "_You_ were."

Dean tightened his grip on the steering wheel as he pulled the car to the side of the road in front of the house they'd found the demon at nearly two years before. He didn't say anything, didn't comment, just killed the engine and slid from the car. Sam sighed and followed him, unsure of what exactly he'd said to put the older man off like that.

Dean stepped up to the door, Sam still at his heels, and knocked softly. The door opened with the motion. The brothers glanced at each other, both pulling guns from the waistbands of their jeans, and crept into the house.

The air inside of the small suburban home was stale and reeked of decay and sickness. It didn't take the boys long to figure out why. A sitting room opened up across from the front door. Inside sat a recliner, the bottom of the chair propped up, one pale hand hanging over the arm rest.

Closer inspection revealed a full body, limp and putrid, lying back as if trying to nap. Dried snot coated the lower half of the man's face, almost distracting from the puffy red eyes that had stayed open far too long to not be covered by a thin coat of something crusty.

Dean was the first into the room and the first to turn away, sickened by the sight of one of the many unfortunates who couldn't get a proper burial. Sam followed him, suddenly afraid of what else they might find in the house. He had assumed that one of Rosie's parents was psychic, but if that was the case and her mother was still alive, why was the girl's father rotting in an easy chair?

They finished scoping out the lower level of the house and found no evidence of living humans. The dishes hadn't been cleaned in what looked like weeks and were collecting mold and bugs, the tabletops were dusty, and , of course, the front door had been unlocked.

Then again, they could always have been too late. Maybe the demons had gotten there first.

The upper level of the house gave Sam the explanation that he found he hadn't really wanted. The first thing that met the Winchesters when they finally ascended the stairs was a corpse with half a head. Sammy recognized her instantly as Monica, the baby's mother. A small handgun lay on the floor beside her outstretched, lifeless hand.

"No," Sam whispered, darting past the body to the room he remembered to be the nursery.

If there had been any lasting damage from the fire that had rocked the small family nearly two years earlier, it had been repaired to perfection. The nursery looked peaceful, painted in soft pinks and purples, the only thing off about it being the smell.

It was the same smell of death and decay that had met the brothers as they had entered the house, only this time it was accompanied by blood.

Sam slowly approached the baby's crib, unaware that he was holding his breath until he saw the body and let it all out in one hopeless whoosh.

The toddler stared up at him with vacant eyes, as if begging him to shoo away the flies that had settled on her forehead, feasting on the dead flesh surrounding the hole her mother had put there.

He stumbled backward from the room and ran into Dean, nearly toppling the older man over onto the dead woman. "She killed her baby," he whispered.

"I take it she didn't know," Dean reasoned, unsure of why he was talking in hushed tones. "She watched her husband die, figured she was next, or the baby, and took matters into her own hands. She didn't want to suffer, so she made it fast."

Sam shook his head. "This is wrong." He looked down at Dean, suddenly scared. "What if they all did this? What if it's just us and the demons?"

"Do you know nothing of human nature?" Dean asked, softly grabbing his brother's arm and leading him back toward the stairs, around the body. "People _survive_. It's what we do. When that instinct kicks in-"

"That's not survival, Dean. It's a murder-suicide."

"Maternal instincts over survival instincts. My point is, we're not the only ones." They left the house, closing the door behind them.

"We should bury them." Sam said, glancing back at the door.

"Yeah, and everyone else in town," Dean replied. "There's too many. It's too much. Besides, if Meg was right…"

"Not again," Sam moaned, rubbing a hand over his face as he trekked back to the car.

Dean opened his mouth to retort, but was cut off by the ringing of his cell phone. It was such an odd sound in the silence of the dead neighborhood that both brothers jumped. Besides, it wasn't like many of the people that had Dean's number were still alive.

He pulled the cell out of his pocket and raised the phone to his ear. "Hello?"

There was a cough at the other end of the line before a voice thick with mucus answered. "Dean?"

"Who is this?"

A sniffle. "I'm so sorry."

"Who are you?" he asked again, a threatening edge cutting into his voice.

The sound that followed wasn't a sniffle, but a sob. "Lisa. Lisa Braeden."

He melted instantly, his heart clenching at the hoarse sound of her voice, the noises that followed it over the line. "What's wrong?" he asked, voice softer now, more patient.

"I'm so sorry," she repeated, "and I wouldn't blame you if you didn't, but you need to come here."

"To Cicero?"

Another sob. "Dean, I just got so scared."

"Wait, wait, wait. Slow down." He looked over at Sam, who was leaning against the hood of the car and watching him intently. "Why do you need me to come?"

"I'm dying," she said, "I'm sick and I'm going to die and," she coughed, long and hard and hacking, "and I can't leave him."

"Leave who?" Dean asked, although he had a pretty good idea.

"I just thought," she forged on, as if she hadn't heard him, "well… Ted, my neighbor down the street, he didn't get sick. He didn't get sick, and he called his daughter in New York, and she was fine, and Dean, he can't be alone. Please, I'm sorry, but I need you to come."

"Lisa, slow down," he commanded again, starting to lose his patience as she sneezed and wheezed over the miles.

"You need to come and get Ben. He can't be alone."

Dean shook his head. "You want me to… Lisa-"

"_Please_."

He looked back up at Sam. He didn't want to take his brother anywhere else, didn't want to show him any more stalled cars, any more corpses, but there was such a note of desperation in Lisa's voice that he couldn't say no.

"I'll come," he said softly, turning away from Sam. "I'll be there soon. Just hold on."

"Thank you," she sobbed, "I didn't think… but you're a good person, and… I'm just so sorry."

"What are you sorry about?" And then another question hit him, hit him hard, and he couldn't help but ask it. "Lisa, how'd you know I wasn't sick?"

He heard her cough again, heard her sniffle. If it hadn't been for those sounds, he would have thought that she was dead, because he didn't get an answer for a good, long while. Finally, the sick woman spoke up. "I knew you weren't sick," she said slowly through the film of mucus in her throat, "because Ted's daughter isn't." She paused, as if trying to decide if that was enough. "And neither is Ben."

The phone fell from Dean's hand.


	6. Last Rites

Kind of a short chapter today. Sorry about that. AS always, thanks for reading and reviewing!_

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_Chapter Six_

_Last Rites_

They'd driven day and night, alternating so they could both get some sleep, all the way to Cicero. It was a slow trip, what with the stalled cars, the smoking wrecks, the death stench in the air. Sam made sure to wake his brother when they hit the city limits, mentally willing him to talk for the first time since announcing that they were making a small pit stop before heading back to Bobby's.

Dean had opened the car door and was halfway up the driveway before Sam even had a chance to pull up next to the curb. He ran up to the front door and rang the bell, glancing back at Sam as if to tell him to stay put.

He turned back to the door, straining to hear if anyone was coming. He'd spent the entire ride to Cicero in a haze of confusion and numbness. One single thought had penetrated his mind after he'd dropped his phone back in Salvation and hastily told Sam what Lisa had said. What she had _implied_.

She's lied to him. She'd lied to his face, had watched him walk out of her house. She'd lied to him and he couldn't blame her. Not after what she'd found out about him, after what he'd done to her. She'd just been looking out for her son. For _his_ son.

He still wasn't entirely sure what to think of that. He'd had a long drive to consider, to ponder, to forgive, and he finally knew what he had to do.

Dean shifted his weight, knocking again, hoping that Lisa hadn't been wrong about Ben. He looked back at Sam, who was still sitting in the car, intent on giving his big brother a little time alone. The older man sighed, pulling his jacket a little tighter around himself, feeling the weight of the items in the pockets press against his sides. He just hoped he wasn't too late.

The door finally opened after what seemed to be a millennia and Ben stared up at him, his eyes red, face wet with tears. "Hey," he said.

"Hey," Dean offered. "Um, did your mom…?"

"She told me everything." The boy ran a hand over his eyes, swiping away the stray tears. When he turned back to the hunter, he didn't look like a kid anymore. He looked like an adult, like too much had been dropped on his shoulders in too little time and he didn't know what to do. Dean could only sympathize. "She said you're my dad."

He nodded. "Yeah. She told me that, too."

"You left."

"She told me yesterday," he clarified. "I never would have left if I'd known."

Ben nodded. "She said you're gonna take care of me now."

"Yeah. You got your stuff packed?" The boy nodded again. "Good. Um, my brother and I have a place up in South Dakota. It's where we've been staying. We're gonna go back there. Ok?"

"Ok. I'll go get my stuff." He turned and walked back into the house, heading up to his room.

"Hey, Ben," Dean called out.

The boy stopped and turned. "Yeah?"

"What about your mom?"

Ben's face crumpled as fresh tears leaked down his face. "I already said good-bye."

"Where is she?"

"Her room." He sighed. "She's not gonna get better, is she?"

"No," Dean said, hating the way the boy- _his son_- looked at him as he said it, as if he'd lost all hope. "But it's gonna be ok. I promise."

"That's what she said," Ben muttered, heading up the stairs to get his stuff.

Dean sighed, watching the boy go. He was a bit surprised, actually, that the kid wasn't huddled in a corner, hugging himself and rocking slowly back and forth. Then again, shock might have delayed the typical kid-reaction to disaster. That, or the fact that he was a Winchester, and grief came with the name.

The hunter set off up the stairs, looking for Lisa's bedroom. A door stood open in the hallway, and he approached it, looking in to see rumpled covers on the bed and an ankle-deep pile of used Kleenex on the floor. "Lisa?"

The covers moved, something moaned, and Dean entered the room. A dark head of hair slid up on the pillow with effort, revealing a pale face with watering red eyes, a raw nose, and sunken features. "You came?"

Dean grabbed a chair from the corner of the room and pulled it around to the side of the bed. "You thought I wouldn't?"

"I lied." Her voice was so soft, so weak that he had to lean close just to hear the words.

"I don't blame you," Dean said, keeping his voice soft. "If I was in your shoes, I probably would have lied, too."

"So sorry."

"Don't be. It wouldn't have worked out, anyway. I had some stuff I had to do."

"Monsters?" she asked.

He smiled. "Kinda. Had to visit some old friends for a while."

Lisa shook her head. "I just got so scared. Changelings and ghosts and demons, and I just… I couldn't do that. I'm sorry."

"Hey, it's all right. I told you, it's not your fault."

"I didn't want that-"

"And he won't have it." Dean said. "My brother and I have a place up in South Dakota. I'm gonna take him there and we'll figure this out. I won't let anything happen to our son."

She looked up at him with cloudy eyes and he realized what he'd said. It was a sentence he'd never imagined being able to speak, no matter how much he may have wanted to over the years. "Don't worry," he assured her, "I've had experience. I have an excellent reference waiting for me out in the car." He grinned. "It's all right, I cracked a window for him."

Lisa laughed, a harsh sound that immediately turned into a cough. "Thank you."

"Don't do that just yet," he said, standing up. The sick woman raised an eyebrow as Dean began emptying his pockets, setting a flask of holy water, a rosary, and a small plastic baggy holding a single Ritz cracker onto the table. He pulled an old book out of his pocket, one that Jim had given his father back when the boys had first started hunting, and flipped it to the marked page.

He took his right hand from the book and waved it over her body, creating two clean, perpendicular lines in the air. She recognized the sign of the cross and struggled to sit up. "What are you doing?" Lisa asked, her eyes flashing with groggy confusion.

"Administering your Last Rites," Dean said. "Is there anything you'd like to confess?"

"No," she replied slowly, shaking her head. "No, I already told you what…" she trailed off, as if struggling to organize her thoughts as the fever took her. "You're not a priest."

"Right now," he muttered, glancing nervously at the cracker he'd blessed the night before, the only thing he'd been able to find in haste that might work in place of the Host, "I'm hoping the Big Guy doesn't mind." He looked back at the book and cleared his throat. "Just stay with me until we're done, ok? And say it with me, Lisa. 'I believe in God the Father Almighty, Maker of Heaven and Earth…'"

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Dean pulled the sheet up over the dead woman's head, hoping against hope that he had done right by her, sent her soul to a place without chains and lightning and hooks and pain. He hoped that it had been enough, that one soul trying to repent in its last moments would be set apart from the millions that had been rendered hell-bound since the virus had been released.

He gathered up his things, sliding them back into his jacket pockets, and left her room, closing the door softly behind him. Ben stood in the hallway, staring at the door, his backpack pulled up over one shoulder. "She's dead, isn't she?"

The hunter sighed. "I'm-" His apology was cut-off by the force of a small body wrapping around him, holding him tight. "It's ok," he whispered as he dropped to his knees and wrapped strong arms around the boy, holding him close. "It's ok. I'm here."

He scooped his son into his arms and headed down the stairs, continuing to whisper the kind of nonsensical comfortings that his life had been devoid of since the fire. Sure, he could remember doing the whispering with Sam when the younger man had nightmares, but he couldn't remember anyone doing it for him. Not for a long time.

He struggled to open the door and stepped out into the sunny street. Sam had moved from the interior of the car to stand beside it, his hands in his pockets. He slid from his spot as he Dean approached, his face contorted with worry.

Dean looked over his son's head at his brother and shook his head. "Could you take care of it?" he mouthed silently, nodding back toward the house. Sam pulled his hands from his pockets to reveal salt and a matchbook before looking back at the car. A shovel and can of gasoline had been placed behind the trunk, waiting to be used. He nodded his approval at the younger man before sliding in behind the wheel of the Impala and attempting to disentangle Ben's arms from his neck.

"It's ok," he offered again, sitting the boy in his lap and wrapping his arms around the shaking body. Ben buried his head in Dean's shirt, and for a moment the hunter wondered if they'd really killed all the changelings. This kid was nothing like the boy he'd met at the birthday party, all happy smiles and mullet rock. Then again, he could remember a time when he'd refused to say a word, refused to smile, to do much more than heat a bottle and feed a baby.

"You know," he said softly, "I lost my mom when I was a kid."

Ben looked up at him. "Really?"

"Yeah. That's what got my family started doing what we do. Something really bad killed her."

The boy sniffled. "How old were you?"

"Four."

"That's young."

Dean nodded. "Yeah, it is. And I had to grow up real fast, too. Had to take care of my brother."

"My uncle?" Ben asked.

"Guess he is."

"Never had an uncle before."

The hunter shrugged. "Join the club." He sighed. "You have no idea how lucky you are."

Ben sniffled, wiping his eyes on his shirt sleeve. "Why? 'Cause I lived?" He shook his head. "I'm alone."

"No, you're not. That's why you're lucky. Growing up, I would have given anything to have my dad there more than he was. _Anything_."

The boy curled up in his lap, resting is head against Dean's chest. " I guess. Still hurts."

He ran a hand through his son's hair, breathing slowly, finding the feel of the boy's beating heart oddly comforting. "It will. But it'll get better. I promise."

Ben looked up at the man that had randomly shown up at his birthday party the year before, the man that his mother had seemed to like, then hate, then like again. He looked up at his father. "What was your mom like?"


	7. The Circle Of Life

I know it's late, but we got into Estes Park, checked into the cabin, and then I had to write a tutorial on blending in photoshop for someone who asked for help. Then I had to update this story on a mesage board, LJ, and here. Sorry it's late... but it's still Monday :) Anyway, this is one of my favorite chapters. Hope you enjoy it._

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_Chapter Seven_

_The Circle Of Life_

The trio- _family_- pulled into a small town in Illinois as the sun began its descent below the horizon. "Look," Dean said, taking his hand from Ben's shoulder long enough to point through the windshield at a small herd of deer that was wandering through the deserted streets. "More deer."

He looked over at Sam, who was sitting in the front passenger seat, head leaning against the cool glass of the window. Ben had been sandwiched between them, leaning heavily against his father.

"Like 'I Am Legend,'" the boy stated. "The people are gone, so the animals come out."

Dean nodded. "Just what I was thinking." He grinned as he heard his brother's stomach growl, realizing that he himself had barely eaten anything that day. "Hey, what do you guys say we stop off here, grab a bite, and settle in for the night?"

"What are gonna eat, Dean?" Sam asked, "nobody's working the McDonald's drive-through anymore."

"You really are lucky I think ahead, you know that? Packed some food before we left Bobby's. It's not a Big Mac, but it'll do."

"Where are we gonna sleep?" Ben asked. "Not like the motels are open."

Dean sighed and looked out across the road at the silent town. Wind rustled through the trees, blowing old newspapers through the streets. Everyone was dead. _Everyone_. Not just sitting inside their houses, waiting out the demonic plague, but actually _dead_.

It was almost as if the realization of what had happened suddenly hit full-force, shocking the hunter enough for him to stop the car and simply stare at the barren town. The Impala's other passengers both turned to him, wondering what was wrong. Dean scrubbed a hand over his face, wondering when the last time he'd shaved was. It didn't really matter in the long-run, he supposed. Not like anyone was really left to judge him on his looks.

"I think it just hit me," he muttered, looking over at his family, all he had left, all there _was_ left for all they knew. "All those people…"

Sam nodded. "Yeah. Well, uh, we can look for a motel, grab a room key, and let ourselves in. We'll have beds, tables, air conditioning."

"How long until the power goes out?" Dean asked.

His brother shrugged. "No way to tell. Depends on how fast it spread, where people crashed their cars, and how much juice the plants have got. Maybe a week? Two?"

"No TV, no radio," Dean glanced at Sam and grinned. "No internet for Geekboy. So sorry."

Sam smiled as the awestruck quality left his brother's voice. "All right. We find a motel, snag ourselves a room, eat, sleep, be merry, and head on back to Bobby's place tomorrow. Sound like a plan?" His brother and nephew nodded. "Good. Let's go."

Dean started the car back up, easing his baby through the town, keeping his eyes open for more deer and the tell-tale signs of a motel. A large sign with most of its lettering peeling from the wood caught his eye and he turned into a crowded parking lot on the outskirts of the town.

"What the Hell?" Dean muttered as he stopped the car in front of the motel office. The parking lot was packed with cars, one or two still holding some rotting passengers.

Sam unlocked his door and opened it, stepping out into the heat of midwestern August, his nose wrinkling at the slight smell that hung in the area around the cars. "I'll go see if there are any keys left." He closed the door and trekked across the asphalt lot, hands in his pockets, head down, suddenly feeling guilty.

He was surrounded by dead people, people that had never done anything wrong, people that hadn't deserved to die. And he had lived. He had lived because his family was cursed, possibly evil, and connected to demons. Yeah, he was so much more deserving than everyone else in the world.

He pushed open the door to the office and was immediately hit by a wall of the most powerful smell he'd ever had the displeasure of whiffing. The air in the office was stale and hot, having been trapped in the small room since the death of the owner.

It didn't take Sam long to find the source of the smell. The motel's clerk was sprawled across the front desk, his fingers dangling over a map of the area that had been tacked across the front. His mouth had been stuck in a silent scream of agony, his eyes wide open and crusted over, his skin bloated and purple with heat and death.

Slowly, the hunter stalked toward the front desk, looking over the body to see the wall behind it. There should have been keys hanging on hooks- the hooks were there, at least- but the board was barren.

Sam glanced back out the front window at the Impala in the parking lot. He couldn't imagine people wanting to die in motel rooms, but supposed that it was better than the middle of the road.

Sighing, Sam left the office, guilt for not giving the man behind the desk a proper burial, or at least a proper cremation gnawing at his stomach. He crossed the parking lot and opened up the car door. "No keys."

"What?" Dean asked.

Sam shook his head. "No keys. There was a space for 'em on the back wall, but they were all gone. Either someone else had the same idea we did, or the people traveling to see family took all the rooms and never got a chance to leave."

"So we're sleeping in the car?"

The younger man folded himself back into the Impala. "Unless we can find another motel, that's what it looks like."

Dean sighed. "Great." He started up the car, replacing his arm around his son's shoulders in an awkward attempt at comfort, and headed back out onto the road.

The next motel was about five miles out of town and displayed a sign that boasted its title as the last run-down flea-bag pit for the next sixty miles. The parking lot was full, as it had been at the last motel, and Dean didn't even bother with it, just kept driving.

The sun dipped even lower before the family had reached a suitable spot to pull off the road and spend the night. The campground they found off the side of the road was old, apparently abandoned, and grown-over with foliage, but it was out of the way and seemed a safe spot to stop for the night.

Dean navigated the car over a dirt path that wound through the grounds, finally pulling onto the grass when they were out of sight of the road. "No electricity," he said, looking around at the grass and trees. "No water hook-up. No bathrooms. No wonder this place went under."

"It was probably used for tent camping," Sam pointed out.

"Again," Dean said, "no wonder it went under. Who sleeps in a tent anymore?"

His brother grinned. "The people that can afford to _not_ sleep in their cars."

"Funny. Just for that, you get to grab the food."

Sam opened the door and slid out of the car, grabbing the keys as Dean tossed them to him. He walked around to the back and popped the trunk, digging around until he found four sandwiches in plastic baggies and a few water bottles. He grabbed them, slammed the trunk, and walked back around to the front of the car, stopping as something caught his eye.

"What is it?" Dean asked, watching as his brother bent to inspect something on the ground.

"Looks like a track," the younger man said, "but nothing dad ever taught us about. Like a cat or something." He stood back up and folded himself into the backseat of the Impala. "A big cat."

"ABC?"

"What's that?" Ben asked, disentangling himself from his father's arms and grabbing the food and water offered to him by his uncle.

"Alien big cat," Dean explained. "Not the ET kind, the illegal kind."

"Cryptozoologists believe that there's evidence of black panthers wandering around the fields in America and a few other countries they aren't native to," Sam explained, "hence the 'alien.'"

"But mostly it's just been proven to be a regular old house cat set up against a backdrop that makes it look bigger than it is," Dean added. "Probably nothing to worry about. Someone's pet or a stray."

Ben nodded, unwrapping his sandwich and taking a bite. "So, monsters, huh?"

Dean grinned, grabbing his own dinner from Sam and settling back. "Yep. Monsters."

"Did they do this?" the boy asked, "did they… kill everyone?"

The brothers glanced at each other before Dean nodded, seeing no reason to lie to the kid, especially not if Meg had been right and an army was coming for Sam. "Yeah. The, uh, the demons did it."

Ben's eyes widened. "There really are demons, then?"

"Yeah. They're real, and they're mean and stubborn and the most evil things you could ever meet."

"Does that mean that angels are real, too?"

Dean paused, unsure of what to say, unsure of the truth. "Yeah," he said softly, looking down at his sandwich. "Yeah. They are."

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Dean stumbled through the weeds and back to the car, nearly losing his way twice in the dark. He pulled the car door open, wincing as it squealed on its hinges, and slid back inside.

He was thankful for the protective hulk of the Impala, the way it shielded him from the unnatural quiet of the night. There were no voices, no scufflings of people, no campfires. There were only animal sounds and death smells permeating the still air.

The hunter locked the door and leaned back against it, trying to get comfortable in the confined space after his much-needed pee break. He was surprised when the small lump leaning against the passenger side window sat up.

"Sorry," Dean whispered, "didn't mean to wake you."

Ben shrugged. "I was awake."

"Nightmare?"

The boy shook his head. "No. Just couldn't sleep." He waited for Dean to get comfortable before crawling over the seat and curling up beside him. "It's creepy, you know?"

"Yeah. Like 'The Stand.' You ever read that?"

"No. Too big. Saw the movie, though."

"Sci-Fi?" Dean asked. Ben nodded. "Yeah. Effects kinda sucked, didn't they?" The boy nodded again, smiling. "Book's way better. Long, but better. _Creepy._ The chapter about how it spreads, that's bad; the worst, though, is the one about the people left behind, the ones who aren't major characters. Don't think they show it in the movie."

"What happens?"

"There's this guy who lost everyone, a wife and a busload of kids, and he's running and has a heart attack. A woman panics and blows her own face off by accident. And there's this kid, four or five years old, goes walking in a blueberry patch or something, falls down a well, and breaks his legs. He can't get out."

"You're right," Ben muttered, snuggling up a little closer, "I did get lucky."

Dean wrapped an arm around his son. "That's still not the worst," he whispered. "See, I got to thinking afterward, and I wonder what happened if a baby was immune?"

"Like in 'The Andromeda Strain?'"

"Exactly," Dean said, "only without anyone to rescue 'em."

"Thanks for coming to get me."

"Don't mention it."

"I didn't believe mom when she told me. But then you came and I remembered Mr. Irving and Jamie. It's hereditary, isn't it?"

Dean blinked. "Man, you are too smart to be my kid."

Ben smiled. "Blood doesn't lie."

"And a blood test without blood from the potential father wouldn't prove anything," the hunter muttered, finally catching Lisa's only slip in her paternity claim.

"Makes sense."

Dean looked down at his son and held him close. He had to marvel at the way the kid was dealing with everything, had to wonder if he was taking the Winchester way out and just bottling everything up, or if he was just really well adjusted. "Try to get some sleep, ok?"

"Ok," Ben said, closing his eyes. He fidgeted a little, squirming to get into a more comfortable position, and opened his eyes again. "Can I ask you something?"

"Anything."

"Where do you think mom is?"

A large lump suddenly formed in Dean's throat, blocking his ability to breathe, to think, to reply. He coughed, trying to clear it. "Um… what?"

Ben shook his head, curling back up against the hunter's chest and closing his eyes. "It's stupid. Never mind."

"No," Dean finally managed to gasp out, "no, Ben, it's not. For what it's worth, I think she's in Heaven."

The boy opened his eyes and stared up at Dean with the kind of innocence the hunter had always wished he could have again. "What do you think it's like? Heaven, I mean."

Dean sighed. "I think it's beautiful," he said softly, glancing into the backseat to make sure their conversation wasn't disturbing Sam. The ginormitron was still out of it, curled up into a little ball in the cramped space, one arm hanging over the side of the seat. "I think that everyone you ever loved is there waiting for you, and you never have to hurt or want for anything. I think it's peaceful."

Ben nodded. "Yeah. I hope so." He yawned, the long day finally starting to catch up to him. "What do you think Hell's like?"

That lump was back in his throat, bringing memories of chains and hooks and screams of pain with it. He closed his eyes, trying to think of something happier, but all he could see was Sam, whole and bright and good, ripping out hooks, grimacing at something so broken and beaten and demolished that even his soul showed the extensive damage. "I don't know," he said, "and I hope you never have to."

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Dean was surprised to wake up without the oddly comforting weight of a nine-year-old on his chest. He sat up and looked around the car. Sam was still curled up in the backseat, drooling all over the leather. Ben was nowhere to be seen.

He figured the kid had woken up first, decided he'd had to pee, and gone to take a leak out in the bushes. He'd be back soon.

The hunter stretched out across the seat, bringing his legs up for the first time and trying to work out all the uncomfortable kinks. He leaned back and stared at the ceiling, waiting. And waiting. And waiting.

Slowly, Dean shifted position until he was sitting up straight. Something was wrong. He could sense it, the way he'd always been able to sense those things, the way he'd been able to tell that Sam needed help after dropping him back off at Stanford.

Something was very wrong.

He unlocked the door and slid from the car, again wincing as the door creaked open and shut. He checked to make sure he was armed, his fingers dancing over the warm metal of the gun that never left the waistband of his jeans, and set off through the campground, keeping his eyes and ears alert.

There was no noise, human or otherwise, permeating the area. That, Dean had learned from experience, was a _very_ bad sign. He watched the ground as he walked, careful to avoid any stray twigs or dry leaves that might make his presence known. From behind a near-by bush, he heard a whimper.

Slowly, carefully, the hunter snuck around the bush in question and stepped into a clearing to find his son standing stalk still, staring straight ahead. "Ben," he whispered, "what is it?"

Ben pointed toward the line of dying trees, his movements slow and calculated, scared. Dean followed the boy's gaze to see a large mountain lion watching them, its eyes never leaving his son.

"Hey!" He yelled, hoping to scare the large cat away. The cougar turned its head in Dean's direction and smiled- actually _smiled_- its dark eyes turning pure white.

The cat turned back to Ben, still smiling, and pounced. Dean didn't have time to think, to draw his gun and shoot, to do much more than scream his son's name and watch as the big cat flew through the air toward the boy. His heart sped up in his chest, panic flooding his system, making rational thought impossible as something dripped from his nose and the cougar changed direction mid-leap, sailing into a large tree and hitting the trunk hard enough to break it in two.

Both Winchesters stared at the fallen cat as it staggered to its feet, glaring at Dean with a mixture of hatred and confusion. The white gaze was enough to snap Dean out of his panicked stupor and send him across the short expanse to grab his son, pulling the boy into his arms. He sprinted back toward the car, always aware of the sound of heavy breathing behind them.

The Impala gleamed in the sunlight ahead of them, and Dean found himself wishing that he'd thought enough to leave the door open. As if prompted by his musing, the door closest to them swung open, providing a means of escape for father and son.

Dean dove into the Impala, barely noticing as the door slammed shut behind him, and reached up to start the car. The keys were already in the ignition, engine growling before he got his hand anywhere near them.

He pulled himself up into a sitting position, gathering Ben into his arms and assessing the boy for physical damage as the car's tires squealed and the Impala pulled out of the campground.

Panting hard, the hunter ran a hand over his face, bringing it away bloody, and set it on the wheel. "What the hell was that?" he whispered.

"Mountain lion," Ben replied, "but they're not native to the area. Must've been an ABC."

Dean nodded, keeping the boy close to his chest as the car swerved, apparently of its own accord, away from the campground and Lilith's latest host. He hadn't been talking about the cat, had barely even registered the fact that there was one in light of the events that had followed its appearance.

In the back seat, Sam sat up, shaking his head groggily. "Why you driving so fast?"

Dean looked at Ben and shook his head. Sam was already freaking out about the possibility of a demonic army coming after him, millions of souls getting stuck in Hell, and all-out war breaking out. No need to worry him more with stories of flying cats and possessed cars. If that was even what they were.

"Just want to get to Bobby's as fast as possible," Dean said, trying to keep his voice level. He drew another hand across his face and found it to be clean. No signs of a nose bleed. No evidence that something might have happened. Good. "Go back to sleep, Sammy. We're ok." He dropped his voice to a whisper. "We're ok." Ok.


	8. Revisited

So, Lilith has found them and Deans seems to be displaying an unusual new ability. Not to mention, Bobby's in Hell, Dean gets to play daddy, and Sam's supposed to lead some army from Hell. Good times, right? Read on!_

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_Chapter Eight_

_Revisited_

"You live here?" Ben asked, looking up at the iron gate that marked the entrance to the Singer Salvage Yard.

"We do now," Dean muttered, pulling up next to Bobby's truck and killing the engine. He hadn't stopped driving since they'd left Illinois, not even for food. Now that he knew Lilith was still after him and Sam, and, by proxy, his son, he couldn't afford the risk. They needed to get someplace safe, and Bobby's was the safest place he knew.

He stepped out of the car, Ben at his side, and stared up at the old house. It had been a haven for him growing up, a place where no monsters could get him and someone was always there to chase the nightmares away. It was a home, with the same bed every night, the same roof all the time, and a familiar face.

He wondered if Meg had figured out how to escape the trap yet. Shrugging the thought away, Dean mounted the rickety steps in front of the house, grabbed the keyring he'd taken from Bobby before the older man's funeral, and unlocked the front door.

Keeping a hand protectively on his son's shoulder, Dean stepped into the house. Sam followed them, locking up. Everything seemed just the way they'd left it. They walked through the kitchen, intent on filling their stomachs, when Sam stepped on a board in need of fixing. A small creak sounded through the house, echoing in the silence of a world without humans, and alerting something to their presence. A feeble voice moaned from the other room.

Dean looked down at his son. "All right, Ben. I need you to listen to me." The boy nodded. "Good. Now, do as I say, not as I do. Stay here."

The hunter looked at his brother and nodded before slowly creeping toward the other room, the one they'd left Meg tied in nearly a week before. He rounded the corner and stopped, his body instantly relaxing as a sly smile spread across his face.

The girl tied in the chair glared up at him, her eyes flashing with rage. The ceiling above her was cracked, torn apart, and dust and chunks of the ceiling littered the floor around her. "How?" she growled.

Still smiling, Dean approached the trap. He stuck the toe of his boot under the rug that sat under the chair and flipped it up to reveal another circle painted on the floor. "That's how," he said, looking back at Sam. "See, I'm not stupid."

Sam grinned. "Never said you were."

Meg rolled her eyes, her head lolling back. "I can't believe I got outsmarted by the _stupid one._"

"She did," Dean said.

"You gonna let me out?" Meg asked.

"Depends," Sam said, "you got a reason we should?"

"I haven't tried to kill you yet."

"Got a better one?"

She sighed. "I'm telling the truth. I'm the last of my family and I don't want to die. I know what's going on and I can help you."

"We don't take help from demons," Dean said.

"Really?" she asked, "because the last time I checked, Sam and Ruby were gettin' pretty cozy."

"And the last time _I_ checked-"

"You don't know, do you, Dean?" Meg interrupted. "You don't know what he did to get you back. He summoned her-"

"Doesn't matter," the older hunter stated. "It's old news. In the past. Right now, we've got no reason to keep you alive."

"Fine," she scoffed. "Kill me. But you'll wish you hadn't when Lilith shows up with her army and you've got _nothing_. If I were you, I'd take all the help I could get."

Dean narrowed his eyes, glaring at her, the image of the cougar pouncing still vivid in his mind. "You so much as twitch in the wrong direction," he muttered, dropping to his knees and scraping away the paint on the floor with his pocket knife, "and you'll be dead before you hit the ground." He looked up at the demon inside the young woman. "You got that?"

The girl nodded, standing up and walking out of the circle. "Got it."

Dean rose and stared her down. "We've got company, and if you so much as touch a hair on his head-"

"I'll be dead before I hit the ground," Meg finished. "Yeah, I know." She looked around the room. "So, where is the little Greaser?"

Sam stepped forward. "How did you…?"

She sighed. "Sammy, the things you don't know about me could fill a book." She walked past them and into the kitchen, where Ben had unwrapped the last sandwich from the car and started to eat.

"Who's that?" he asked.

"Acquaintance," Dean answered. "Name's Meg."

Ben narrowed his eyes. "She's not right."

Meg smiled, her eyes turning black. "Intuitive little bugger, aren't ya?" The boy gasped, and jumped away.

"Easy," Dean warned the demon. He turned to his son. "She claims to be one of the good guys right now. Don't worry. We sent her to Hell before, we can do it again if she gets out of line."

Ben nodded slowly, eyeing the demon with mistrust. "Sure."

She sat down at the table beside him, watching him eat. She looked up at Dean, then back at Ben. "Wow. He even _eats_ like you. Poor kid."

Dean ignored the comment, joining his son and the demon at the table. "Don't suppose you've got anything new for us?"

"Actually," she said, "I do. Scored some intel while you two were gallivanting across the plains. Seems Lily's stayed fairly close to home since releasing the virus."

"Close to home?" Sam asked.

Meg nodded. "Up east. It's where she started to gain power, and it's where she's set herself up now so that the survivors can find her. They're flocking. Demons are picking up psychics and taking them to her so that more demons can get hosts. Since her little plague they've been kinda hard to come by, you know."

"So she's still gathering followers," Dean said, "perfect. And we've got you. Lucky us."

"Me and Ruby," the demon stated.

"What?"

"Yeah." She smiled. "The wicked witch is on her way."

"This day just keeps getting better and better," Dean moaned.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Ben was in bed, safely tucked between the sheets that Dean had spent some of the happiest moments of his childhood curled up in. Ruby was still a no-show, a fact that, while surely welcome in Dean's view, was making Meg out to be a liar. Meg, who had also turned in early, crashing on the couch after stuffing her face, claiming that the girl she was possessing, a college student from a couple of states down, was simply _starving_. Sam had been shut in Bobby's bedroom the last Dean had seen him.

All of that was fine with the older hunter. He needed some alone time, some fresh air, a chance to watch the sunset over the salvage yard and think. He'd been moving all day, it seemed; driving and watching Meg and making sure Ben wouldn't have a breakdown.

Dean sighed. He was still waiting for the breakdown, and, given the kid's genetics, might have to hold out for a while.

Genetics. Bloodlines. Family traits. Man, that cougar had _flown_. He shook his head. She hadn't changed direction of her own free will, he was sure of that. She had been pushed. Pushed like the car door had been pulled opened, like the keys had found their way into the ignition and turned by themselves, like the wheel had spun under his light, shaking touch, moving without anything to guide it.

The sun dipped toward the horizon as Dean stood on Bobby's front porch, leaning against the rickety railing to keep his knees from shaking at the nature of the thoughts passing through his mind. What he was thinking was crazy, wasn't it? Because Sam had the whole psychic-thing down, and Dean was just there to act as the superhero sidekick, to make the nightmares bearable. Dean was normal. Always had been, always would be.

He reached inside his jacket pocket and pulled out a silver bullet, rolling it back and forth on his palm, watching it glint in the fading light of the day. It was a beautiful weapon, a powerful weapon. He set it on the railing that lined the right side of the creaky steps and let it roll slowly down the slope.

His eyes tracked the bullet as he set the heel of his hand on the railing, fingers spread, palm open, willing the silver cylinder back up toward him. To his surprise, the bullet stopped its downhill track and reversed its motion, rolling up the railing and into his hand.

Dean picked up the bullet, holding it close to his face, inspecting it for any imperfections. Because it _had_ to be the bullet. The alternative was him, and that was just ridiculous.

Finding nothing wrong with the silver, he set in one the railing again, letting it roll for a few seconds before opening his palm and summoning it back to him. It obeyed.

He did it again, his heart pounding as it rolled back up the slanted railing and into his hand. And again, as his breathing quickened and his mind searched frantically for evidence of a fluke, or a trick, or anything other than what could only be the truth.

"What's wrong with me?" he whispered, catching the bullet and slipping it back into his pocket, leaning heavily against the railing.

"Hell if I know," a familiar voice said behind him. Dean scowled and turned around to face the demon.

"Thought Sammy and I told you to get out."

"I don't listen to you," Ruby replied, "and Sam wasn't exactly at his most convincing the other day."

"You'd rather he go full-on hellspawn on your annoying little ass?"

She smiled. "Cute. For a guy who actually _is_ Hellspawn."

"Look who's talking."

Ruby leaned up against the railing beside him, frowning as it groaned under their combined weight. "I'm not the one pulling a 'Titanic' with silver."

"What do you want?" Dean groaned, not in the mood.

"To help you," the demon answered simply. "Duh."

"Yeah, 'cause you're a _real _big help. Thanks for _saving my soul_, by the way."

She wrinkled her nose at the sarcasm dripping from his voice. "Hey, I came through. Eventually."

"Yeah. Two weeks. That was great. Best time of my life, actually."

Ruby snorted. "I wouldn't complain. Got you the shining, didn't it?"

He turned to her, eyes blazing with confusion. "What?"

"You asked what was wrong with you," she said, "and I told you. Hell."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Hell if _I_ know. _Hell_, if I know. That's cute. Did you read the nice book about the panda's diet, too?"

"I'm serious, you know," Ruby said. "You really think the power thins that much as it travels down the line? It doesn't. Half-blood is just as good as full-blood. You had just as much a chance of being Azazel's target as Sammy did. He was just born in the year when Yellow-Eyes decided to pop back up. Bad timing on your parents' part, if you ask me."

"You got a point?"

"Your last year, Sam lost what he had. It got buried when he refused to use it. Same thing happened with you, I guess, except that it never started up in the first place. All your brother needed was a trigger. That was your death. You needed one, too."

"Ben," he whispered. "But why him? Why not Sam?"

"Because the kid wasn't the trigger. The pit was. You go to Hell, and it messes with your mind," she said. "How else do you think all those people turn dark side? It _does_ things to you. You and me, we lucked out. I got a knife- which I still want back, by he way- and you got psychic. Congrats."

Dean shook his head. "That doesn't make any sense."

"It's _Hell_. It doesn't have to make sense."

The hunter opened his mouth to argue, but any efforts at a comeback were cut off by the slamming of the screen door as Ben raced outside.

"There's something wrong with Sam," the boy panted. "I couldn't sleep, and I was looking for you and he's just… he's sitting, but he's not…"

Dean didn't waste any time in running through the door, barking for his son to stay put as he raced up the stairs to Bobby's bedroom. The door had been thrown open, and through it he could see Sam sitting on the bed, eyes open and blank, face slack, body perfectly still.

"Sammy!" He grabbed his brother's shoulders, shaking the younger man, trying to elicit some kind of response. Sam just stared blankly ahead, his eyes clouded over. "Sam, don't do this to me. Don't you… not again, you hear me? _Not again!_"

Sam's head lolled on his shoulders, a sick imitation of that night in Cold Oak, when Dean had truly lost everything he had left. He shook his brother again, more lightly this time, finally getting a moan from between the taller man's barely-parted lips. "Sam?"

His brother's eyes cleared and Sam jerked away, gasping. Dean let him go, backing off and giving him room. "What the hell was that?"

Sam looked up at him with wide, scared eyes. "I saved him," he said softly.

"What?"

"I thought about what you said," Sammy clarified, "and I think I got it. You raised me, but I never stopped to wonder who raised you. It was Bobby. He did it, didn't he? You took care of me, and he took care of you. That's why you wanted me to save him so bad, isn't it?"

Dean paled. "Please tell me you didn't…"

Sam leaned his back against the bed and closed his eyes. "Meg wasn't lying. Everybody who died… they all went to Hell. _All_ of them."

Dean slumped down beside his brother. "You went into Hell?"

"Had to save Bobby."

"You actually…?"

"And I have to go back. I mean, think about it," he said, cracking his eyes open and looking at his older brother. "All of those people. We can't just leave them there to rot. Ellen, and Jo, and Lisa, and _everyone_. Dean, I have to go back."

The older man shook his head, looking at the lack of color in his brother's face, the small line of blood that leaked from his nose. "No, you don't. Not ever."

"But-"

"Don't argue with me, Sam. They'll be fine. They can take care of themselves."

"They don't deserve it."

"And neither do you." He sighed. "Look, we'll figure something out, ok? Just… stay here for a while. Stay with me. Stay with me."

Sam nodded. "All right." He scrubbed a hand across his face, staring at the blood. "Don't know how much more my brain can take right now, anyway."

Dean smirked. "Gotta have a brain before you can fry it, Sammy."

The younger man laughed. "Jerk."

"Bitch."


	9. Leader of the Pack

Wow. So many reviews, so little time. Thanks so much, you guys! You're making my vacation even better than it was before._

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_Chapter Nine_

_Leader Of The Pack_

Dean awoke to the sound of muffled voices in the front of the yard. He struggled out of the covers, pulling Ben's arms from around his own body in the process. After snapping Sam out of his trance the night before, Dean had gone into his own room and offered to sit up with the boy until he'd fallen asleep. Naturally, the adult had nodded off first.

He walked to the window and looked out into the front yard, his jaw dropping as he caught sight of the crowd standing around the junked cars, talking and laughing.

The hunter turned from the window and walked into the hallway, heading toward Bobby's old room. The door stood open, revealing the obviously slept-in but empty bed. He changed course fast, heading down the stairs toward the kitchen. "Sammy!"

Sam poked his head out of the kitchen. "Yeah. We know."

"What the Hell?"

"Five demons and three psychics," Ruby reported. "I talked to 'em this morning."

Meg appeared in the doorway behind them, arms crossed over her stolen chest. "Told ya so."

"They can't stay here," Sam said, glaring at the demons.

"Where else they gonna go?" Meg asked. "Lilith would kill the demons for coming here first. The psychics wouldn't fare much better. You'll be turning them out into a world where their only alternatives are death and possession. You'd be just as bad as she is."

Sam looked at his brother. "Help me out here, man."

The older man sighed. "They've got a point. If they're here, they're safe."

"They're _demons_."

"Who pledged their loyalty to you."

"Unless they're lying. Maybe they're spies. Who's to say they won't kill us in the middle of the night?"

"Better than dying at that maniac bitch's hands," Dean pointed out.

"I'm not gonna do this," Sam argued. "I'm not gonna lead some army into war."

"I never said you had to. All these people want is a place to stay where they'll be safe."

"You can't prove that."

Dean looked at Ruby. "They say they want to fight?"

She shook her head. "No. Just said they didn't want to die."

"What about the psychics?" he asked. "They even know what they are?"

"One did," the demon said. "The others seemed pretty clueless. The demons were looking for Sam, they picked up the psychics along the way."

Dean nodded. "The one who knew, what can he do?"

Ruby smiled. "_She_ can read energies."

The older man nodded again, looking over at Sam. "We can put her to use. She can weed out the spies for us. She'll be able to tell if they're lying."

Sam narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest and jutting out his chin, a sure sign that he was getting annoyed with the fight. "Girls, you want to give us a second?"

Ruby and Meg looked at each other, standing in the doorway, as if debating whether or not it would be worth their time to miss the fight.

"Yeah," Dean agreed, sensing the tension in the air, "why don't you go ask the newbies what they did before the end of the world, huh? See if they're useful or not." He flashed a strained grin as the demons nodded and reluctantly left the room.

The brothers waited until the front door had banged shut before they turned back to each other, glaring daggers, ready to defend what they both believed to be right.

Sam started off the blow-out. "What the _hell_ was that?"

"What the hell was what?" Dean asked. "Sam, this isn't even a question. We can't send those people back out there."

"Five of them aren't even _people_."

"You're right," the older man deadpanned, "we should exorcise them so the people die. That's so much better than associating with demons."

"They're monsters, Dean; we hunt them."

"Hunted Doc Benton, too. Didn't stop you from wanting to be just like him."

"That was different. You were gonna die."

"And what's gonna stop that bitch from killing me again?" Dean asked. "Because she could. We both know it. All she'd have to do is snap her fingers, and-"

"Then I'd save you. I'd step in and, I dunno, blow her away or something."

"So, me, you'd save, but them, you'd send to the gallows?"

"What do you want me to do?" Sam questioned, "lead the demon army from Hell? Walk into battle like Yellow-Eyes wanted? Finish what he started?"

"Newsflash, Psychic Boy. It's already over. The world ended. Everybody died. It's finished. All that's left is us and our souls. You really wanna forfeit those? Because I'm not letting my son go to Hell."

Sam shook his head. "You're impossible, you know that. There's no proof that she'll come after us."

"Right, because she doesn't want your intestines on a stick and she _definitely_ won't care that I got out. In fact, if she does find us, she'll probably throw me a nice, big homecoming party."

"Look, I told myself I wouldn't do this, and I won't. Nothing you say is gonna stop me from walking away from this."

"You can end this," Dean pointed out. "You can end it once and for all and we can start over. You finish Lilith off and no demon in Hell would dare try to come after you again. We'd be _untouchable_."

"Do you really believe that?" Sam asked. "You think I can snap my fingers and do away with her and that'll be that? Yellow-Eyes died and Lilith stepped up. What happens when she dies?"

Dean sighed, shoving his hands into his pockets. "You step up."

A look of pure disgust crossed the younger man's face as he stumbled back a step. "You sound like a _demon. _Like one of _them_. Man, Hell must've really addled your brain, because you've been all gung-ho for me to go nuclear since you got back."

"Maybe I just trust you. You ever think of that?"

"Because dad was _so_ trusting of my humanity," Sam reminded him.

"I'm not dad."

"You sure act like him."

Dean shook his head, his lips curling up into a snarl. "Don't you say that. I went and _got_ my son when he needed me. Don't you say I'm like dad."

"I lead this army off to war, and what do you think is gonna happen to him? What if you leave and don't come back? Then what?"

The older man stared at him, his jaw clenching along with his fists as he considered the ramifications of physically striking his brother. He felt like hitting something, like screaming, like storming off. "You won't lead it," he growled, "fine. _I_ will."

Sam snorted. "What?"

"You heard me. Someone needs to step up and protect these people, organize them, give 'em half a chance at something more than Hell on Earth or actual Hell. If it won't be you, it might as well be me."

"Yeah, all right," the younger man scoffed. "You do that, Dean, and you tell me how it works out."

"You think I can't?"

"What makes you think they'll listen to you? Huh? I'm their chosen leader, their _boy king_. They'll laugh at you, and I'll be right there with 'em."

Dean nodded. "You do that, Sammy." He spun on his heels and stalked from the kitchen, hands still clenched at his sides, teeth grinding together as he fought back his rage. The front door opened in front of him and he walked through it, squinting in the bright light of the early morning sun.

Ruby and Meg were standing with a small group of people, three men, four women, and one small girl. All ten turned as the door slammed shut of its own accord behind him.

"All right, listen up," Dean announced, unaware of the fact that Sam had appeared in the doorway to watch his failure. "There's a new plan." A slight murmur rippled through the small crowd. "Sam's not gonna be in charge here. I am."

One of the men in the crowd laughed. "_You?_"

"Yeah," Dean said, "_me. _Got a problem with that, slick?"

"It's just that we were expecting someone a little more… _qualified_," one of the women said, crossing her arms over her chest as she stared up at him with disdain.

"Yeah, well, let's just say Haley Joel shot himself in the foot and wound up with an honorable discharge. I'm second in command."

Ruby laughed, walking up the steps toward him. "You're serious?"

"I am."

"This isn't some little game of war, Dean," she said. "This is the real thing."

"I got that, yeah."

She shook her head. "This isn't like your daddy's war. This is pure evil walking the earth, _powerful_ evil. And she wants your soul. Maybe even more now that she got a taste of it. She's not gonna stop until you're dead. And then she's gonna go after your brother."

He stepped forward until they were toe-to-toe on the porch. "I can take care of myself."

"Really? And what qualifications do you have to lead this army?" She leaned forward, until her lips were almost brushing his, her voice a deep whisper. "Because a rolling piece of silver ain't gonna cut it, Carrie."

Dean smirked, leaning away from the demon. "My qualifications? You sure you want to know that?"

"I think it would help."

He took another step away from the demon, his smile widening as he stared down at her with contempt in his eyes. She crossed her arms over her chest, sticking out her hip and leaning to the side in her trademarked pose. "Any day now," she challenged.

She watched him, appraising him, waiting for him to admit defeat and back down so that she could go back into the house and try to get the real leader back in the saddle. The demon opened her mouth to let out another smart aleck remark, but all that came out was a gasp as she felt something deep inside her mind disconnect.

Ruby struggled to stand as her knees buckled and she fell back against the rickety railing. She glared up at Dean, wondering what he was doing to her, why it felt so familiar. And then saw it, saw herself, streaming out of the girl's mouth in a black cloud. Her eyes widened as the hunter's nose began to drip blood from the effort he was putting into pulling her from her host, the body that she'd come to accept as her own over the past year.

She struggled to keep her hold on the girl, even as he kept pulling. Her legs weakened further, threatening to spill her onto the wooden porch, to lay her out at his feet in a sick imitation of subservience.

"Stop," she gasped, the girl's lips choking off part of the cloud and sending it swirling up into the sky. All at once, the pull she felt on her mind ceased and the hunter stumbled back a step.

He looked out over the group still standing on the lawn, at their wide eyes and slack jaws. He looked back at Ruby, who was just starting to regain her hold on the girl's mind and body as she struggled to stand.

"See," he said, his voice cold as he wiped away the blood from his face. "I'm qualified."

Behind him, Dean heard the screen door open and close. He turned around to find Sam standing on the porch, his expression mirroring those of the people on the lawn, horror written in his widened eyes.

"Sammy," he whispered, suddenly scared, realizing what he'd done. He'd gone to Hell, he'd come back different. Maybe he wasn't a demon, but he was more than willing to lead their army, and that made him just as bad, maybe even worse.

"What _are_ you?" Sam asked, his voice low, pleading.

"I can explain."

Sam just shook his head, backing slowly away from his brother and the group on the lawn. When he reached the end of the porch, he vaulted over the railing and ran into the maze of wrecked cars that made up Bobby's back yard.

Dean sighed and looked back at the psychics and demons, at Ruby's scared face. "Get them settled in," he ordered. He may not have had whatever mojo his brother did, but the command still worked. Ruby scrambled down the steps to the group and ushered them up the stairs and into the house with Meg bringing up the rear.

She stopped as she reached Dean, looking up at him with shining, honest eyes. "You know, from the moment I met you, I knew Daddy picked the wrong brother." She opened the door and disappeared inside the house.

Dean nodded to himself, sticking his hands in his pockets, and went looking for his brother.


	10. Paved With Good Intentions

Hey, guys. We're leaving the first cabin in about half an hour, and I'm not sure if the second one has wi-fi, so I'm going to post this chapter before replying to reviews. I figured you'd appreciate this a bit more. i'll reply if we have internet at the other cabin :)_

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_Chapter Ten _

_Paved With Good Intentions_

Sam slumped down by a rusted-out car, grabbing his knees with his hands and leaning his head back against the chalky metal. He couldn't believe what he'd seen, couldn't believe what he'd heard.

His brother wasn't his brother anymore.

He held back a stray sob as the realization hit him full-force. Dean was different. He'd been different since Sam had brought him back, had been more than willing to see what the younger man could do if he only pushed himself.

And his soul. That was the one image that haunted the younger man, made him toss and turn in his sleep. The vision of his brother, broken and bleeding and screaming, _damaged_. Dean was damaged goods, a tarnished soul.

Bobby hadn't been that way when Sam had found him, when the heat had risen and the screams of the newly damned had filled the air. Bobby had been fighting, had been _whole_. He'd been beat up, sure, but there were no invasive wounds, nothing serious, no blood, or sweat, or tears. Just Bobby.

The hunter shuddered with the memory of where he'd been the night before, the tortured faces, agonized screams, the smell of death and sulfur and despair that hung in the heated air. He couldn't go back, Dean was right about that. He couldn't go back if he wanted to keep his sanity.

He heard footsteps crunching over the dirt and pulled his knees closer to himself in an attempt to disappear, to not have to face the harsh reality that Dean had been right all those years ago and what's dead should stay dead.

His brother wasn't his brother anymore.

"Sammy?" Dean poked his head around the husk of the automobile Sam was hiding behind.

"Don't call me that."

The older man sighed. "Sam."

Sam glared up at him, putting as much hate as he could into his expressive eyes. "You're not him. You're not Dean."

The thing that he'd thought to be his brother sighed again, a sound of pure exhaustion, and rounded the car to sit beside him, leaning back against the old junker. "I can explain."

"How long?"

Dean shook his head. "It's not my fault."

"How. Long."

"I dunno. Ruby thinks about three months, but-"

"You talked to Ruby about this?" Sam demanded.

"Wasn't exactly my choice."

"Since when do you confide in _demons_?"

"I don't," Dean said. "I didn't. I was talking to myself and she was just _there._" He paused, as if considering whether or not to continue. "Now, you want the whole story, or you gonna interrogate me some more?"

Sam didn't know whether to laugh or cry. The man sitting beside him sounded so much like his brother that it hurt. But it couldn't have been Dean. Dean was normal. Dean wasn't a freak. "What happened?"

Dean shrugged. "You know how Meg said you got the shining 'cause Yellow-Eyes basically drugged you as an infant?"

The younger man couldn't help but smile at his companion's word choice. "Yeah?"

"Well, we got the same mom, same blood, different triggers."

"Meaning?"

Dean swallowed hard, his heart hammering in his chest. "I think I came back… different."

Silence fell over the salvage yard as Sam let the statement sink in. Everything he'd feared, everything he'd hated to even _think_ about had just been said aloud. "How different?"

"I'm still me," Dean said, a little too quickly. "Sammy, it's still me. Just like you're still you, right?"

Sam nodded slowly, suddenly wondering if that was true. He had once been so afraid of the things he could do and what they might mean, but since Dean's death he'd been playing fast and loose with his powers. He'd barked orders at demons, lashed out psychically, and marched into Hell. Sure, he'd vowed to locked them up and never look back at that time, but he'd broken his own golden rule the night before. How was he really supposed to know if he was the same guy he'd thought he was?

"Well," Dean continued, taking the nod as an affirmative instead of a question, "I'm still me. I am. You believe me, right?"

The younger man turned to him, staring at him, paying close attention to his eyes. Yeah, it was Dean. Looking into those haunted orbs, Sam couldn't believe that he'd ever doubted. It was Dean. The eyes said it all. "Yeah. I believe you." He shook his head. "But when did you find out?"

"Couple days ago. When we were at that campground, I woke up and Ben was gone. Had a bad feeling, so I went looking for him. Found a mountain lion staring him down."

Sam's eyes bugged. "In Illinois?"

Dean nodded. "In Illinois. The damned thing looked over at me and smiled," he paused, gauging Sam's reaction. "And then its eyes turned white and it jumped at him."

"Lilith," the taller man whispered, the color draining from his face.

"I dunno what happened after that," Dean said. "All I know is that the lion went flying and hit a tree, I grabbed Ben, and we hightailed it back to the car. The door swung open, we jumped in, and we were driving before I even grabbed the keys."

Sammy grinned. "Came outta you like a punch, didn't it?"

"You weren't lying about that."

"So," Sam said, "telekinesis, huh?"

Dean nodded. "Looks like."

"That's great. I get painful death visions and you get TK." He glanced over at Dean, at his brother, at the man he'd faced Hell for, and smiled. "I hate you."

"Jealous?"

"Oh, and you wouldn't be?"

Dean shrugged. "Way my nose keeps leaking, I'm probably killing off valuable brain cells each time I bend a spoon."

"That's bad. You didn't have many brain cells to begin with."

"And dying didn't help much."

Sam cringed, unable to stop the memory of holding his lifeless brother in his arms from flooding back, washing over him like a powerful tide. For a moment all he could see were Dean's dull eyes, his bloody chest, his broken tattoo. All he could feel was loss, emptiness, abandonment, and a power greater than anything the world had ever known surging through his veins.

"She did that to you because of me," the younger man muttered, "you know that, right? If it hadn't been for me being some great, chosen leader, that never would have happened. I never would have," he paused, wondering if he should go on or if Dean would get what he was saying. One look at his brother told him that the other man did. "And you never would have. It's my fault."

"You know, if you're right, you'd better get ready."

"Why?"

"'Cause she'll be coming after you now."

Sam snorted. "Right. Because you're the new leader."

"King of the jungle, baby."

"I still don't get why, though," the younger psychic said, shaking his head. "Why would you willingly lead them into war? I thought that's what we're trying to avoid."

"We are," Dean said. "Or, we were. When that Gate opened, when Lilith stepped up to bat, the war started. We just have to finish it."

"And going off half-cocked is gonna do that?"

"Hey," the older man reasoned, "you and me? We actually have a chance. All we have to do is get organized."

"And what about Ben? What about that little girl who came in this morning? What are they gonna do?"

"They're gonna stay where it's safe," Dean said, "and they'll be fine."

"What if something happens to you? What's he gonna do then? And where are they gonna stay? We thought Bobby's was safe, but we've got demons and psychics roaming all over the freakin' place."

"We'll figure something out."

Sam shook his head. "I just don't get it, man. Think of your son!"

"I am. That's all I'm doing here, Sammy. I'd much rather have him grow up in a world ruled by you than a world ruled by her. Despite everything you think, you _are_ cut out for this."

"And what if I don't want to be?"

"Then I'll do it." Dean sighed, hanging is head. "Someone has to. We sure as hell can't let her win."

"You really think heading off to war is gonna make the world a better place?"

"Can't make it any worse."

"Weren't you the one who said we can't head down this road?" Sam asked. "Weren't you the one who said we should keep me in check, not trust the demons, and just kill the little white-eyed bitch outright? Didn't you tell me that Ruby was just jerking me down this road right here? Don't you remember what it's paved with and where it's heading?"

"I know what I said," Dean muttered, "but I take it back. You were right. It's you, and you can handle it. And, yeah, I know where that road's going. I've been there. I'll make sure to avoid it this time." He grinned. "We'll take the road less traveled by."

"You really think that'll make all the difference?"

Dean shrugged. "It has to." He stood up, brushing off his jeans, and held out a hand to help his brother up. "So, you coming back?"

Sam sighed, grabbed his brother's hand, and let the older man haul him to his feet. "Not like I have a choice. Got the whole demonic homing beacon thing going for me nowadays."

"That's the spirit," his brother grinned. They started back to the house, Dean's good-natured expression turning sinister as they walked.

Sam glanced at his brother, suddenly concerned. He was about to ask if the older man was all right when his hand moved of its own accord, slapping the younger psychic in the face. "_Dean_?"

"Why you hittin' yourself?" Dean asked with an air of false innocence as Sam's hand moved again to slap the taller man across his own face. "Why you hittin' yourself?"

"Stop it," Sam growled through his own smile. At least he was sure it was Dean now, knew in the only way family could. This was, after all, what he'd always feared his brother would do if gifted with any kind of supernatural ability.


	11. Don't Fear The Reaper

So, our new cabin has wi-fi, but it wasn't actually activated until yesterday. I almost missed all the cool Comic-Con videos!

Anyway, that's why replies to reviews were kinda late. But the wi-fi's up now, and I'm posting chapter 11. This is one of my faves, mostly because it has a very subtle reference to another CW show hidden within it. Can you figure out which one it is? :P

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Chapter Eleven_

_Don't Fear The Reaper_

Sam smiled as the group approached, all looking apprehensive. He glanced down the line of tables that had been set up at the edge of Bobby's property, at the demons and psychics that sat ready to document any newcomers to the haven that Singer Salvage Yard had become over the past week.

The check-in had been Ben's idea, and Dean had backed it whole-heartedly. As the number of people in the groups showing up daily looking for Sam increased, so did the need to keep track of them.

A young man walked up to Sam's table, running an unsteady hand through his unruly dark hair. "Don't worry," Sam assured him, "we're the good guys."

The man nodded, glancing back over his shoulder. "Yeah, that's what I've heard."

"You heard right. Here's the drill," the psychic said. "I'm gonna need your name and occupation, then you can head on inside and relax. We've still got power, we're working on stock-piling food, and a group will be back with tents and supplies any time now."

"That's great. Um, my name's Sam," the man said, "and I used to work at a hardware store."

"Great name," the hunter commented. "So, hardware, huh? You good with your hands?"

"Not exactly. But I can do this one thing."

Sammy leaned back in his chair. "Show me."

The man nodded again, holding his open palm over the pen that sat at the edge of the table. It shuddered against the wood for a moment before flying into his waiting hand, eliciting a gasp of shock from someone farther down the line.

"Telekinesis," the hunter marveled. "Nice. All right, head on in."

"There's one more thing," the man also named Sam said. He leaned in close, his unbuttoned shirt scuffing across the confusion of papers that Sam hadn't had time to straighten up between in-coming groups. "There's a demonic army after me," he whispered.

Sam laughed. "You and me both, buddy."

"No, I'm serious," the man said as he was pushed past the table and into the relative safety of the salvage yard.

"Yeah," Sam called after him, "so am I!" He turned back to the group that had gathered in front of his table. "Name and occupation," he smiled. "And somebody _please _say doctor."

o0o0o0o0o0o0o

The young hunter took the moment of peace he'd found since processing the last group of new arrivals to tidy up a bit. He scooped up his papers, all covered with the names and occupations of various psychics and hosts. With luck, the demon inside the dentist that had dropped by that morning would be able to tap into the human's memory of what to do and how to do it in case of emergency.

He sighed, leaning back in the uncomfortable metal folding chair. He'd never thought he'd see the day when Winchesters worked willingly with demons.

Sam turned his head at the sound of footsteps to see Tracy, one of the psychics from the first group to arrive, walking toward him. "Busy day," she said.

"Yeah. And bound to get busier before it gets better."

She laughed, tossing her long brown hair away from her eyes with a shake of her head. "Don't suppose you got a doctor?"

"Does a possessed dentist count?"

"Last week I would have told you there was no such thing. Demons and psychics and ghosts and goblins. Too much, you know?"

He nodded. "You get used to it. No doctors yet, but I wouldn't worry. You've got, what, six months left?"

The woman smiled shyly and nodded her head. "I took the test the same day Dave started coughing." Her smile faded. "And now it just seems like it was a trade. Dave for the baby."

Sam sighed. He wasn't exactly sure what he was supposed to say to her, knew that words couldn't make that kind of hurt go away.

"You're lucky," she said. "You spend so much time with your brother and both made it out alive."

He knew how to respond to that. "We're not out yet."

Tracy raised an eyebrow in question, her mouth opening slowly, making Sam wonder if she really wanted to know what he was talking about. He was saved the trouble of answering any questions that might have been forming in the unwilling psychic's mind, however, as the rumbling of a truck pulled them from the awkward moment.

"I swear," the woman said, shaking her head, "how these people are able to maneuver through the streets with all the stalled traffic is beyond me."

The pair watched as an old blue truck pulled up in front of the line of tables. Sam pushed his chair out and stood up, ambling over to the vehicle to see what the group Dean had sent out earlier in the day had come back with.

"Streets are nuts!" a lanky man reported, jumping out of the truck's cab and shaking his head at Sam. "Like everybody in town tried to drive out. Worse then it was three days back."

"Which means people are still alive," Sam reasoned.

"Not anymore they're not."

The psychic sighed. "What did you get?"

The man hitched up his pants and walked around to the back of the truck, where the rest of the group had ridden, and pulled down the tailgate. "Got the sleeping bags, tents, and cots your brother wanted." He smiled, his eyes turning black. "Never took him for one to know what to do in crisis. Least, not after what happened at Cold Oak."

"Hey, Mark?" Sam asked, matching the demon's smile.

"Yeah?"

"You like it here?"

"Sure do."

"Then don't let Dean hear you say that. He will exorcise your ass right on back to Hell and then laugh about it."

"Not if he doesn't want to ruin this fine packaging," Mark said, gesturing down at the redneck of a body he'd taken as his companions began unloading the day's score.

Sam leaned in close, dropping his voice. "And you think there aren't a million more demons out there looking for a fresh meat suit?"

Mark paled visibly, clearing his throat. "So, you, uh, gonna give us a hand, here, Sammy?"

"It's Sam," the hunter replied, "and, yeah, I will." He looked at the others in the group. "Take the tents out to the space that we cleared for them yesterday and start setting them up. Put as many sleeping bags inside them as you can." He turned back to Mark. "Cots go inside the house."

"Who's sleeping inside?" the demon asked. "_Besides_ you and your brother, I mean."

"Kids. Not sure if you noticed, but we're getting a lot of 'em in." He glanced at Tracy and winked. "And there are more on the way." He reached up into the truck bed and grabbed a stack of rolled-up cots. "You get blankets and pillows, too?"

"Sure did." Mark followed Sam's lead, taking a slightly larger pile, as if to show the former 'chosen one' up, and walked back to the house with him. "So, what's our next move?"

"Honestly? Right now we're working on getting people here and keeping them safe and happy." Sam bumped the lightswitch with his elbow, illuminating the living room that he and his brother had cleared out the night before to make room for the beds for the children. "Can I ask you something?"

"Might not give you a straight answer. Nature of the beast and all."

"Does the town still have power? I mean, are the lights on?"

"Bulbs might've burnt out. Freezers in the store were still running, though. Not that there was anything in them. They got cleaned out. Hope your friend had a good stash holed up somewhere."

"Hunters are like Boy Scouts," Sam reminded him. "We're always prepared. He has a storm cave out back stocked with lamps, oil, canned food, bottled water, matches, salt, and holy water."

Mark smirked. "All the essentials, right?"

Sam nodded, slipping a cot out of a canvas bag and attempting to set it up. He almost had it when the lights flickered and went out.

Both demon and hunter gazed up at the ceiling, their eyes narrowing as they took in the shape of the dark light bulb against the pale ceiling.

"That can't be good," Mark commented as two more people ran through the door to the living room to report that it wasn't the light bulb that had gone out, but the power itself.

Sam turned to the newcomers to the room, a pair that he recognized from a group that had arrived two days before. "Where's my brother?"

"Out back, I think," one of them said. "Why?"

"Stay in here and keep setting up," Sam commanded. "I'll be right back." He rushed through the door and out of the house without waiting for confirmation. This was what he had feared since the true fatality of the plague had hit home. This was life on Earth without the modern conveniences. First it had been TV and radio, then the internet, and now the electricity. The next step was probably mob riots, and with a psychics and demons the only ones left, Sam was dreading it.

He ran around the house to find Dean tossing an old baseball back and forth with Ben. The younger hunter stopped and backed around the corner, watching in secret. He'd never seen Dean play catch before. They'd never had a baseball- or, really, any kind of toy- growing up, and their father had always told them to stay in the motel rooms and avoid the vulnerable expanses of the outdoors.

He wasn't sure why he was so surprised to see his brother catching and tossing the ball; it wasn't like it was difficult. It just didn't seem like the Dean thing to do. He watched as the ball sailed over Ben's head and the boy raced off to catch it. Sam saw his chance to get his brother alone and took it.

The younger man rounded the corner, his appearance catching his brother's attention.

"How long you been watching?" Dean asked.

"Long enough to know you can't pitch."

"It's not me, dude. It's him. Kid's short."

Sam smiled down at his brother. "Look who's talking."

"Ha ha." Dean leaned up against the side of the house, watching as Ben retrieved the ball and was promptly hounded by the ten or so other children that had shown up that week. The boy glanced back at his father, who waved at him to go ahead and have some fun, before running off to join them. "So, what's up?"

"What makes you ask?" Sammy questioned, joining his brother by the house.

"Because I haven't seen you all day."

"Hey, I was doing my _job_. What were _you _doing?"

Dean smiled. "Making sure Ben's ok."

"Oh."

"So, what is it?"

Sam sighed. "The power's out."

"What?"

"The power's out," the psychic repeated. "No lights, no fridge, no air. What do you want to do about it?"

Dean rubbed a hand over his face. "Um, I dunno. Bobby had lamps stored away in the cellar. We can run off those in the night for a while, maybe send someone into town tomorrow for more oil, candles, whatever."

Sam nodded. "That's what I was thinking."

"Great minds," Dean shrugged.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Sam stared at the field of tents that spread out before him. He took a swig of the warm beer in his hands and turned to Dean, who was standing beside him on the front porch, watching the sun set.

"Gotta hand it to ya," the younger man said, "this is pretty good. The organization is something I never would have expected from you."

"That's because it was Ben's idea."

Sam nodded. "Yeah. How's the kid doing?"

"Pretty good," Dean admitted, "all things considered. He's already made friends. And I… I keep waiting for him to crack, you know? Like one day's it's just all gonna come out and I'm gonna have to, I dunno, do… _something _to help him. I just wish I knew what."

"You know, it's possible that he's fine. Kids are resilient."

Dean shook his head. "I don't think I can deal with it. I have no idea what I'm doing, and-"

"What are you talking about? That kid's in great hands. I should know. Not like dad did much of the raising in my childhood."

"Yeah, and look how you turned out. Leader of the demon army from Hell."

Sammy sighed. "Thought that was your gig now."

"Should be yours," Dean said, taking a long draw on the bottle.

"You know, Dean, a year ago you were itching to keep me out of the hellfire. What happened?"

Dean shrugged. "Stuff, ok? It's not important. I just trust you now, is all."

"You keep saying that, but you won't give me a reason. I want something to go off, here, Dean. What happened to you? What do you know?"

Dean shook his head, stepping away from the railing and staring up at the sky. "It's nothing."

"Dean," Sam said, careful to keep his voice down, to keep his brother calm, unsure of what exactly the older man could do now if he got angry. "Come on, man. You can tell me. I'm your brother."

"You'll think I'm crazy."

"Look _around_ you. We're surrounded by psychics and demons who are resorting to sleeping in tents because the world is ending around us. There's no crazy here. Now tell me what's going on with you."

Dean sighed. "It's nothing, really."

"Tell me, or I'll have to-"

"What?"

Sam squared himself up, trying to look more intimidating than he felt. "I'll just have to go in there," he poked his brother's forehead with one long index finger, "and find out for myself."

"Really?" Dean asked, crossing his arms over his chest. "The boy king who doesn't want the throne?"

The younger man shook his head, his hair flapping around his face. "When the hell did we start joking about this?"

"Exactly," Dean said softly.

"What?"

"_Hell_."

Sammy sighed, running a hand through his hair as he leaned up against the railing. _Hell_. That was what it all went back to. Death and Lilith, powers and secrets. _Hell_. "What happened?"

Dean joined him at the rickety railing, their combined weight causing the boards to creak and groan. "When you came to get me… do you know how you did it?" Sam shook his head. "Well, I do."

"How?"

"How do I know, or how did you do it?"

"Both, if it's not too much trouble."

The older man nodded. "When I saw you, I thought I was dreaming, or hallucinating, or that something was messing with me. I was… strung out. You looked _good_, to say the least."

"Ok?"

"After you got me down, when we were falling, you grabbed me and I felt, I dunno. I felt _you_."

Roughly fifty inappropriate comments about his brother's sexual orientation crossed Sam's mind, but he kept them to himself, choosing instead to just nod his understanding.

"I don't know how else to describe it," Dean hastened to add, apparently realizing the other way his statement could be taken. "But it… I mean…" He sighed, frustrated. "What part of a person goes to Hell, Sam?"

"Their soul?"

"Exactly." Dean looked up at him, met his eyes, willing him to understand.

"Are you saying that my _soul_ saved you?"

"I know how it sounds. That's why I didn't tell you."

"So, you saw my soul. How does that not make me inherently evil?"

"Because I didn't just see it," Dean muttered, exhaustion apparent in his voice. " I felt it."

"You… felt my soul?" Sam asked, wondering for the first time if Dean was just messing with him, pulling an elaborate prank. One look into his brother's eyes proved that theory wrong.

"Yeah, I did. And it felt good, and right, and _not_ evil. You told me once to trust you to keep this thing in check, and now I do. I have proof. You're not evil, Sam. Not at all. But you _are_ the one who needs to learn some trust."

"But," Sam said, shaking his head. "I didn't, you know, _feel_ you."

"Good," Dean said, a shallow grin forming across his face. "You don't need to."

"Maybe I'm not the only one who needs to trust himself," the younger psychic muttered.

"So, you believe me?"

"No one would make that up," Sam said, smiling as he tried to lighten what had become a serious mood.

"So…"

"I'm not gonna lead the demonic army from Hell," Sam groaned.

"Maybe help?"

The younger man rolled his eyes. "Yeah, sure. I'll give you my genius advice whenever you want it."

Dean smiled, the mood officially lightened. "Great. Just what I always wanted."

The brothers stood on Bobby's front porch, watching the sun set over the numerous tents that had been pitched in front of the house and back into the depths of the salvage yard. For just that moment, there were no secrets. In time, their minds might process what had been said, what had been admitted, but for the time being, things were just _good_.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o

The man with the graying black hair stared into the flames, watching the fire spark and crackle. His face was set, his eyes alight with failure. He knew he stood out in the camp, a single suit amongst the flannel and denim. It didn't matter. He wasn't planning on staying long, anyway. He'd seen what he'd come to see, had found his failure.

His friend had been right. He had been wrong. His wife had been right, too. She'd discovered what he'd been searching for while he had followed a false lead, a wrong trail.

The worst part was, he couldn't do anything about it. He was past taking sides, having chosen the wrong one before time had begun. Besides, he knew how it all ended.

He turned as he heard something crunching through the gravel of the salvage yard's front drive. A slender blonde stood beside the fire, hip jutted out to one side, arms crossed over her chest, face smug.

"Hey, there," she cooed.

"Go away."

The girl sat down beside him, smiling. "You've been following the wrong Sam around for the past year, haven't you?"

"Shut up, Ruby."


	12. Jus In Bello

Well, if you didn't get it, the answer to last chapter's question is "Reaper!" Get it? New!Sam was the psychic with the demon problems and the Devil was the one following the wrong Sam. Yeah. See. it's kinda funny... in a way :)_

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_Chapter Twelve_

_Jus In Bello_

"You know," Dean muttered, setting his beer down by the railing and leaning out to look over the camp, "a year back, I never would have thought we could be here." He sighed, shaking his head. "I mean, _us,_ working with _demons_? Just not a possibility."

Sam nodded in agreement. "Know what you mean. Guess the apocalypse changes things."

A soft wind blew through the bare trees that lined Bobby's property- which was now the _Winchester's_ property- sending a shudder through the fires that had been started for heat and light. The people surrounding the flames also shook, from cold or fear or uncertainty, nobody knew. They were huddled together, psychics and demons and people who had been unaware of the existence of either until the world's population had started dying and human beings had become extinct.

"Is this how you thought it would happen?" Sam asked. "With the flu?"

"World ain't over yet," Dean responded. "Not by a long shot."

Sammy sighed. "For some reason, I always thought we'd do it." He glanced at his brother. "Not you and me. I mean humanity. Like the ice caps would melt and we'd all drown, or we'd blow each other up and the ones lucky enough to survive the initial blast would wind up with a nuclear winter on their hands and nothing to do about it, or-"

"Or the government would start experimenting and wind up with some kind of super-secret weapon that wiped everyone off the earth," Dean interrupted. "Or maybe our cure for cancer wasn't as great as we thought it was. Hell, maybe the local flora decided to go nutso on us and we started ganking ourselves." He shrugged. "This isn't really the best time for 'maybes,' Sam. We could be here all night."

The younger man smiled. "Funny, though. All of my theories came from reality and all yours came from movies."

"And we were both wrong."

"Unfortunately." Sam looked out over the camp, over the scared people and pacified demons. They thought they were safe. They thought that they had reached the end of the line, the one place where everything would be ok again.

He looked at his brother, the tension held in the broad shoulders, the smooth line his lips made as they pressed together, the laser-stare of his hazel eyes. Maybe the refugees from the virus were content with where they were, but Dean wasn't. He had no idea what he was doing, where he was going, or even if the troops designated for Sam would listen to him in the long-run.

Sam figured that was just too bad. He would help, sure. Help by trying to find a way to stop Dean from running off half-cocked and getting his telekinetic ass handed to him by the white-eyed bitch that had sent him to Hell. That was his job now, as far as the younger man was concerned. It was about time he saved Dean for a change, instead of getting there too late to do anything about it.

He caught a flash of movement from the corner of his eye and turned to look out at one of the fires. Ruby was sitting alone, her legs crossed, a satisfied smirk on her stolen face. She tipped her head back to the sky, gazing up at the stars and looking just as content as the rest of the camp, confident in her safety.

Then the girl's eyes bugged. She scooted away from the flames, blinking, and tilted her head a bit. Sam watched with fascination as she cocked her head to the side, her eyes narrowing, searching for something. Slowly, she stood up, still watching the cloudless sky.

Ruby looked up at the front porch, at what must have two imposing silhouettes from where she was standing, and pointed at the stars. "Um, guys?"

Dean turned to her, his eyes narrowed in annoyance. "What?"

The blonde demon fidgeted, stepping away from the fire and nearly tripping over her own feet. Her finger was still cast toward the heavens. "We've got company."

Sam and Dean followed her finger with their eyes, gazing up as the sky as a sharp breeze shook the trees and threatened to topple a few of the cheaper tents. It looked as if a storm was coming in. A large, dark cloud floated across the sky, blotting out the moon and the stars from sight as lighting flashed in the distance.

"Just what we need," Dean muttered, shaking his head as Ruby stumbled up the steps, leaning heavily on the railing.

"Look closer, you idiot," she commanded, still pointing.

Dean squinted as lightning flashed again in the distance, illuminating the camp with its soft purple glow as the cloud rolled in faster than any storm the hunters had ever seen before.

"Shit," Dean breathed, his eyes widening as the realization of what he was seeing hit him. He shoved Ruby back down the steps, pushing her out of the way once her feet had hit dirt and wading into the sea of tents. He look back over his shoulder, shouting at Ruby to help him round up their band of survivors while Sam got the kids.

The younger hunter turned his back on the approaching horde of demons and raced into the house, leaving his half-empty beer to fall off the rickety railing as the door slammed behind him.

The cots had been set up in rows, making it easier to navigate through the beds, and Sam ran between them, shaking the children and rousing them from what seemed to be a peaceful rest.

He dashed up the stairs toward the room Ben and Dean had been sharing to find the boy awake, sitting up on the bed.

"We need to leave," Sam panted. "_Now_."

"Where's dad?" the boy questioned.

"He's outside getting everyone else up. Come on." He crossed the room in two steps, grabbing his nephew's hand and yanking the kid to his feet. He pulled Ben into his arms and carried him out of the room, knowing that Dean would never forgive him if he was too late, if the newest addition to the broken family stumbled and was unable to get back up before the inevitable attack came.

Sam did one more sweep of the house before bursting back into the formerly sweet night air that now reeked of sulfur. He adjusted his grip on Ben and descended the stairs, looking for his brother.

He could barely see Dean at the end of the camp closest to the approaching cloud. He was shooing people out of tents and away from campfires, herding them toward the forest. Sam followed a group into the bare trees, knowing that there was no cover, no safety net, no way that they would survive.

Meg ran past him, her eyes wide, face pale. She was scared, pushing her host's body to its limits, her breath heaving in and out in unsteady hitches and gasps.

The wind picked up more, snapping branches off the old trees and sending them hurtling toward the survivors of the first stage of Lilith's attack. People began to trip and fall, causing others to go down as the front of the cloud descended on the salvage yard.

Sam glanced back once to see if Dean had made it into the forest. People were running and screaming, falling all over themselves and each other, panicking. He could see the young man he'd checked in earlier that day, the one named Sam. He had no time to call out to him as one of the loose branches sailed from the tree and imbedded itself in the younger psychic's neck, bursting in near his spine and coming out through his windpipe. He didn't even have time to scream.

Ben buried his head in the spot between Sam's shoulder and neck, griping his uncle's jacket with more force than a child should have been able to muster as more people fell and the demons broke into the forest.

The wind whipped around them, screaming with rage as unnatural lightning forked across the sky and the demons laughed. Sam held the boy tighter, willing protection upon him, wishing that Dean could be there with him. Dean would have known what to do. Dean had a way with kids.

A tendril of smoke shot past him and Sam ducked to the side, taking cover behind a large tree trunk. This wasn't how it was supposed to end. Not in a forest surrounded by demons. Not with a scared child in his arms. Not with the wind howling and the survivors screaming and Dean in the middle of it without any way to protect himself. Not with-

And then it stopped.

The wind, the lightning, everything was suddenly at a stand-still.

Sam dared to peek around the side of the tree and gasped. Bodies lay scattered across the rugged terrain of the woods, some breathing, some not. And in front of them all, closest to the border between the forest and the house, stood a man with his hands outstretched toward an army of demons.

The hunter disentangled himself from his nephew's clingy limbs and ordered him to stay put. He climbed out from behind the tree, out of his safe haven, and approached his brother.

The demons were surging forward, flashing and howling with anger as Dean used whatever he had found in Hell to hold them off, building an invisible wall between the attackers and his charges.

As Sam approached, one of Dean's hands fell slack, resting at his side for a minute before straying up toward his head. The demons pushed forward and Dean fell to his knees, head down, palm out toward the cloud.

The younger man finally made it to his brother and stepped around to get a good look at him. Blood was spilling from Dean's nose at an alarming rate, slicking his face and neck, falling onto his clothes, staining his amulet.

And the demons just kept charging.

Dean groaned, a pathetic sound, something that Sam never would have imagined his brother making. The older man closed his eyes, his face scrunched in pain as a fledging ability was pushed past its limit for the sake of the many, disregarding the fate of the one.

Sam wouldn't allow that. He had worked too damn hard to get Dean back, to keep his brother. He stepped forward until he was level with the man and stared out at the swirling mass of black smoke.

He closed his own eyes, aware of what he was about to do, what it might mean for him, what Dean had told him about his own nature. "Stop," he whispered. Nothing happened.

The psychic opened his eyes, glaring at the demons. "Stop!" It was a shout, a scream, a cry for attention, a _command._

The mass of smoke stopped writhing. Dean looked up at Sam, his eyes swimming with pain and- maybe- hope.

"Back off," Sam ordered, taking a step forward and to the side, ready to run to his brother's aide.

Dean's hand finally dropped, the invisible wall that had been protecting the group fading as it did. The demons stayed put, as if waiting for another order, waiting for Sam.

Sammy stared at them, thinking of what Dean had told him back when life was easy, when the plague was light-years away. "Go to Hell."

The demons screamed their rage as the cloud began to swirl, picking up speed as lightning flashed and thunder roared. The smoke made its way toward the sky, swirling ever faster until the cloud was engulfed in flame-in hellfire- and disappeared.

Dean's eyes never left his brother, and his weren't the only pair. Every psychic, every demon, every _thing_ in the forest was staring at him, assessing him, judging him.

Ben was the one to break the silence, to run forward and wrap small arms around his father. Sam followed suit, checking his brother for lasting damage. He hefted the older man to his feet, slinging a limp arm over his shoulders.

He looked back at the group. "Come on," he instructed, nodding back toward the salvage yard. "Let's go back."

They all stared at him as if he had sprouted an extra head. Everything remained frozen for a short period of time before they finally nodded and began the trek back.

They passed him, still staring, as he limped under the pressure of his brother's body. "Dean," he whispered, glancing nervously at Ben, who was walking silently behind them. "You ok?"

Pain-numbed eyes turned to him. "You're not bleeding."

"_You_ are," Sam reminded him.

Dean smirked. "Knew you could do it, Sammy."

"I wouldn't have had to if you hadn't tried to kill yourself back there."

The older man straightened up, attempting to stand on his own and failing. He looked up at Sam, his eyes suddenly sharper, clearer, more deadly. "Those demons would have killed them." He paused, still staring up at Sam. "Or worse."

"So you decide to see how many demons you can hold off and for how long? How'd you even know that you could do it? I mean, as far as I know, you haven't exactly been practicing."

"That's because you're not the one that washes the silverware," Dean grinned.

"This isn't funny," Sam countered, his voice harsh enough to wipe any amusement from his brother's face.

Dean kept his gaze on the younger man. "Did you see what you did?"

"Did you see how they looked at me? Like I'm some kind of monster?"

"But you're not evil. You're still you."

"For the time being," Sam grumbled.

"Still don't believe me?" Dean slurred, his head drooping as his eyes glazed over again. "Thought we had this talk."

Sam shook his head. "You can't feel another person's soul, Dean. And I can't believe you'd go against what dad knew."

"Dad was an ass."

"Yeah? Well at least he never tried to hold off a demon army while his brother took care of his kid."

The older man flinched at the words, which cut through the fog that seemed to be settling in his mind as the adrenalin from the fight began to fade. He found the strength to look back at Ben, who was silently following the brothers up the steps to Bobby's house.

"Trust you."

"Maybe you shouldn't. Maybe you should have thought about your family. Or at least yourself. How many times do you have to die before you start caring? How long before you try to save yourself?"

"Them?" Dean whispered.

Sam leaned his ear closer to his brother's mouth. "What?"

"But who's gonna save _them_?" Dean passed out.


	13. No Harm, No Foul

I am back from vacation with another chapter. Hopefully I'll be able to finish posting this one before school starts. I have a feeling I'll be swamped in college..._

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_Chapter Thirteen_

_No Harm, No Foul_

Sam stared into the small bedroom at the lump that he'd set under the warm covers. The lump, Dean, was barely breathing, his chest moving up and down so slowly that it was hard to see, the small puffs of air exiting his lips so faint that they were hard to feel against bare skin. His face was white, contrasting wildly with the sharp crimson of the blood that caked his face.

The younger hunter had tried to wipe the blood away, but he'd been bitten. He'd had to tend to his own wound after that.

He supposed he couldn't blame Ben for lashing out like that. The kid had been curled up at Dean's side since Sam had laid the older man in the bed that father and son shared. His skinny arms had latched around Dean's neck and refused to let go, even as they, too, became covered in blood.

The boy was proving that he was his father's son with the protective streak he'd revealed as soon as Sam had gotten close. He wasn't gonna let anything else hurt his dad, wasn't gonna risk Sam injuring the man any further.

So, Sam stood in the doorway and watched, ready to spring into action if the shallow movement of the blankets would taper off.

He let himself gaze out the window at the now-cloudless sky. He could barely see the light of the few fires that still blazed as people talked about what hey had witnessed. The ones that hadn't believed in psychics and demons sure as hell did after the attack and Sammy's little demonstration.

The hunter shifted uncomfortably under the memory of those gazes, the fear in the eyes. He had caused that, had scared people. He had scared himself. The damn thing was so much more powerful than it had been when he let it out to save Dean. So powerful, and yet still under his control.

And he could still feel it. It was there, bubbling up in his mind, seeping through the cracks in that mental door that he had sworn to slam on it all those months ago. He had sworn to never look back. Not only had he looked, he had grabbed, poked, prodded, and _used_.

He turned his eyes back to his brother's still form. He'd been afraid to tell Dean. He'd been afraid that his brother would look at him different, like everyone in the camp undoubtedly would. He had been afraid to mention that he had started having dreams again, that he could feel alien emotions pushing in on him. Fear and uncertainty were the top contenders, but whenever he was around Dean it changed to pain, fast and deep.

And then there were the words, two or three at a time, invading his mind in the voices of others.

Sam leaned heavily against the doorframe, refusing to leave even as his thoughts ran rampant through his already muddled mind. Telling himself that it had started after he'd gone after Bobby made him a liar, and he knew it.

Opening himself up to accept what he was and what he could do was something unforgivable. It was something there was no going back from. He'd opened a door, thinking he could close it, and found that once it was closed it had to be locked back up, but he'd lost the key. He'd lost the key, and the flimsy wooden chair shoved under the handle wouldn't hold the beast back for long.

It was Dean's thoughts that had sent Sam back in after Bobby. It was his determination that had caused Sam to hand over the straining reigns to an army he had never asked for. It was Dean that Sam had lied to, hoping to keep his only family from giving him that look, that silent stare that said more than words ever could.

He was especially afraid of getting that look from Dean, whose mouth said one thing while his eyes said another. It would have sent him over the edge, would have shoved him into the room that Yellow-Eyes had built and Ruby had pointed out, would have locked him in there with whatever the demon had planted. If he had ever come out after that, he wouldn't have been himself.

Now the door was open, had been shoved with such force that an entire army had been sent flying back to Hell with the utterance of a few simple words. More and more, he found himself wondering what he could do if he only tried, and it scared him.

At least, it _had_ scared him. Maybe he didn't believe his brother when Dean said that he was good person because of the way his soul had looked in the fires of Hell, but he believed in the feeling of immense trust that had washed over him as the older man spoke his secret. His brother trusted him, trusted him with his soul.

Trusted him _because_ of his soul.

Sam sighed as footsteps creaked up the old wooden stairs. He turned to see Ruby and Meg walking side by side down the hallways toward him. "Two girls at once is never a good thing," he muttered, daring to focus on the demons instead of his brother as they stared expectantly up at him. "What do you want?"

"To talk to you," Ruby said, "about what happened tonight."

"That was a one-off thing."

"We all know that's not true," Meg countered.

"Dean-"

"Can't keep this up," Ruby interrupted, "and you know it. He'll kill himself."

"I won't let him," Sam said, crossing his arms over his chest and straightening up.

"That's gonna be pretty hard for someone who isn't willing to fight."

"Unless," Meg said, "you've changed your mind."

"I'm not leading your father's army," Sam repeated for what felt like the thousandth time since the first batch of survivors had shown up on Bobby's doorstep. "And that's that."

"Well, you'd better do _something_," she challenged, "because your brother sure as hell can't."

"I'll talk him out of it, then."

"Not an option," Ruby said.

"And why not?" he asked, starting to get annoyed. "Lilith's army's gone. In case you missed it, I sent them back to Hell." His eyes roved over the demons in front of him. "And if you don't cut to the chase, you might just be next."

"Cool it, AC," Meg said, smirking at the scowl that formed on Sam's face at the nickname that was apparently making the rounds.

"I'm _not_ the Anti-Christ," he growled.

"Whatever you say, dude," the demon said, "but Ruby's right. You can't just opt out now."

"I'd like a good reason, seeing as how the other side in this supposed war just got a one-way ticket back down south."

Ruby sighed. "That wasn't her army."

"What are you talking about?" Sam asked. "Of course it was. They _attacked_ us."

"That wasn't all of them," the demon stated simply. "It was just a small group, a few scouts she sent out to search and destroy. She knew you'd be immune and she still wants you dead. She's just too afraid to do it herself."

"Especially now that she knows you got Dean back," Meg added. "That took some pretty powerful mojo, there, psychic boy. You've got her shaking."

"I don't want her shaking," Sam said. "I want her to leave me alone."

"Well, getting your brother killed ain't gonna do that. So sorry."

Sam glanced back into the bedroom, watching as Ben curled himself closer to his father. It looked like the kid had finally fallen asleep, but the psychic wasn't entirely sure that he wanted to risk cleaning up his brother's face just yet. "What are you trying to tell me?" he asked.

"We're trying to tell you that you don't have a choice any more," Ruby said. "It's too late to back out now." A sly smile cut its way across her face. "Of course, you already knew that, didn't you?"

"What are you talking about?"

"What you did to save your brother," he explained, "is something there's no coming back from. You take the plunge and let yourself become some kind of super-psychic, and you can't undo it. There's no way to call foul, or redo, or jacked-up dream sequence. You're stuck."

Meg nodded. "And you can win this war."

"I don't even want to fight," Sam said.

"You'd let her kill us all?" the demon asked, pushing her host's glasses farther up on her stolen nose. "Because that's what she'll do. She'll kill the demons and make sure the psychics function as hosts." She looked into the room where Dean was laying. "And what do you think she's gonna do to him? Because what he saw, what you saw… that's not Hell." She shook her head. "Not like it could be. You really want to send him back there?"

Sam glared at her. "What do you think?"

"I think you're gonna be all for it tonight, but when the white-eyed bitch's army crosses into our territory, you're gonna go soft on us. Half of us are gonna die. Half of us are gonna live as slaves. Lily's gonna make damned sure that Dean suffers for what you've done, and you might just get to see it." She took a fluid step forward. "Imagine it, Sammy. Your brother wakes up back in your old home, the smell of fresh-baked cookies in the air, and when he goes downstairs to investigate he finds his family waiting for him. You all see him and smile, and he smiles, too, because this can't be Hell. But it is."

"Stop it."

"And then he hugs his mommy, because he's missed her. And when he pulls away she's lookin' at him funny, and then she gets real quiet. You know what happens next?"

"Stop." He could feel rage bubbling to the surface, fighting with the tears that threatened to form behind his eyes, burning for control because she was right, because that was what Dean had always wanted.

"She's gonna leave," Meg continued, "and he's gonna ask you for help, and he's gonna ask his daddy. You're just gonna smile and walk away. He's gonna be alone for the rest of the day."

"I'm warning you-"

"He'll wake up the next morning, and it'll happen all over again, only different. You see, it has to be different, because if it wasn't, he'd grow to expect it. Maybe you'll stay for dinner this time, huh?"

"Stop it!" It flew out of him again, shoving her backward hard enough that she tripped over her own feet and stumbled down the stairs, her neck breaking as she hit the floor.

Sam and Ruby both rushed to the top of the old staircase and stared down at the fallen demon. As they watched, Meg gained her feet, grabbing her host's head and snapping it roughly back into place. She looked up at them and grinned, fresh blood dribbling from her mouth. "Told ya you could win."

The psychic turned from the staircase and marched back to the doorway to check on his brother again. He tried to ignore the sound of Ruby following him, tried to ignore the memory of the college-aged girl falling down the steps, the sound of her neck cracking, the blood on her lips.

"Leave me alone," he muttered as he reached the door, his eyes roving over the lump under the covers. Dean seemed to be breathing easier.

"Is that an order?" Ruby asked, her voice soft, not threatening.

"I don't give orders. I don't take orders. I'm not a soldier. I'm not a general. I'm just a person."

"And none of this affects you?" she questioned. "What happened tonight, what you just did? Sam-"

"No harm, no foul. The group's all right, I'm all right, Dean's all right, Meg's all right. Like it never happened."

"But it did. And you're not the only one who remembers," Meg said, climbing the stairs and walking down the hall to join them. "The only way we can truly forget about all of this, is to fight." Sam opened his mouth, but the demon cut him off. "I know you don't want to hear that, but it's the truth. That was just the first group, Sam. The next one might be the big one, and Dean-"

"Then I'll stop them," he interrupted. "I'll just keep stopping them until there aren't any left."

"You'll be putting all those people in danger," she pointed out. "Your brother won't let you do that."

"So, what do you suggest?"

Meg shrugged. "Head them off at the pass."

Ruby nodded in agreement. "Makes sense."

"You want me to go after her?" Sam asked. He stared at Ruby in shock. "Five months ago you told me that was a suicide mission. Hell, _three_ months ago you told me I'd get us all killed. Why the sudden change in heart?"

"Because you can do it now. We all believe in you."

"Oh, great," Sam scoffed. "The demons believe in me. Just what I've always wanted."

"You pull that sarcastic tone of voice and harden those pretty little eyes of yours," Ruby smiled, "but you know that we're right. It's gonna get worse before it gets better. We take the war to them, or they bring it to us. Either way, we end up fighting. The question is, do you take your place and lead us, or let your brother do your dirty work and bleed his brain dry?"

He stared back through the door as Den began to stir, groaning as he rolled over in he bed, causing Ben to sit up and rub at his eyes. "Dean doesn't have to know."

"He'll find out eventually," Meg said.

Sam turned back to them, his eyes flashing. He could feel it again, and worried at the familiarity of it all, the way it seemed to fit now. "Nobody's gonna tell him," he growled, forcing the command onto them, smirking as they stepped back, even as his head began to pound. "And you two _chuckleheads_," he looked pointedly at Meg as he stole her phrase, "aren't gonna tell him." The demons both nodded as Sam smiled. "Good."

He looked back into the room in time to see his brother sit straight up in bed. Dean turned wide eyes toward him, running a hand over his face. "Man, I just had the weirdest dream."

Glaring back at the girls once more, Sam walked into the room and sat on the edge of the bed, careful to keep his long limbs away from nephew's teeth.


	14. Exit Light, Enter Night

So, apparently that last chapter was either relaly bad or uneventful. either way, this one's longer, bigger, and bloodier. Enjoy!_

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_Chapter Fourteen_

_Exit Light, Enter Night_

Sam slopped another spoonful of cold Spaghetti-Os into his mouth and stared across the table at his brother. In the three days since the attack on their little home base, Dean had been quiet, as if lost in thought. At least he was getting his color back, walking around as if nothing had happened, and still consorting with their small band of survivors.

"You been having any weird dreams?" the older man asked, causing Sam to turn his head away, lest he be caught staring.

"No. I told you; those stopped after you killed the demon."

"Not those kinda dreams," Dean clarified.

"What kind of dreams then?" Sam asked. "And why?"

"I was talking to that group we got in late last night," the older man said, "the one from Michigan. This guy Chuck asked me the same question. Said everyone in his group was having the same dream, every night. Freaked the demons out, but Chuck wasn't sure why. He thought it was a psychic thing, a cry for help."

Sam nodded, debating whether or not to tell his brother that he'd been having the same dream every night for nearly a month. "What did he dream about?"

"Same thing I've been dreaming about since we got attacked. Some rural road in New York state. There's a girl sitting at an intersection-"

"A crossroads, you mean?" Sam asked.

"You've had it, too, then?"

The younger man shrugged. "For a while. About three weeks, actually. I never get to see the kid's face, though. Like she's hiding from me, or something."

"Well, Chuck sure feels sorry for her," Dean said, nodding. "She's crying, with her knees pulled up to her chest, just sobbing like a baby. And she's young, too."

"He thinks there's really a girl that needs help?"

Dean nodded again. "And he wants us to go help her. She tells him that she's in New York, but she's scared and lost and doesn't know where her parents are."

"Adopted, maybe? I mean, if she's real and projecting into everyone's dreams?"

"That's what the psychics in his group are thinking, yeah. Demons have another theory."

"What is it?" Sam asked.

The older man shook his head. "Doesn't matter. They're right, but Chuck won't listen. Thinks we need to go help the poor blind girl."

Sammy scrunched his face up in confusion. "How's he know she's blind?"

Dean smirked and leaned across the table, his voice low and secretive. "She has white cataracts over both her eyes."

Sam straightened in his chair, his blood running cold in his veins. No wonder he could never finish the dream, never see the girl's face. She _was_ scared of him. "Shit. Dean, we have to stop him."

"Working on it. The guy won't listen to reason, though. You know, she really is smart for a sadistic psycho bitch. Nobody would be scared of a sweet little girl."

"No one would kill one, either," Sam reminded him.

"We just need a plan," the older man said. "Something that she'd never see coming. Maybe some way to block her out here." He fell silent, leaning back in his chair, considering. "Would be better if we could get to more people, though. I mean, who knows how many are left? And if they all feel like Chuck does…"

"They'll walk right into a trap."

Dean nodded as the table plunged once again into silence. Sam let another spoonful of cold pasta slide down his throat. At least he wasn't alone. At least the odd dream that he'd brushed off as some sort of post-traumatic stress wasn't just meant for him, but for everyone. At least-

The front door banged open and Meg marched into the kitchen, pulling both brothers from their thoughts. "Got a new group in from around Vermont," she announced. She turned to Dean. "Guy in charge wants to talk to you."

"What did he do?" Dean asked, "tell you to take him to your leader?"

"No," she said. "He asked if he could talk to Dean Winchester."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "I don't know anyone from Vermont." He shrugged. "Send him in anyway, I guess."

Meg nodded and left the room, only to return a minute later with an older man in tow. He gazed at Dean with dark, appraising eyes, eyes that seemed to burrow into his soul, to see him for what he really was, to know everything about him in an instant.

"Now I remember," the hunter said. He grinned at his brother. "Sammy, this is Bobby's old friend. The one that helped us with Bela." He looked back at Rufus Turner and grinned. "Thought there was something off about you."

"And I told you you'd change if you came out the other side," the man replied, taking a seat at the table. He smiled at Sam, holding out a hand for him to shake. "Name's Rufus."

"Sam," the younger hunter replied.

"Ain't you supposed to be in charge of this little shindig?"

Sam narrowed his eyes. "How do you know about that?"

"I know things." He turned to Dean. "Guess I'll be dealing with you, then."

"Guess you will," the hunter said.

Rufus nodded. "Got a group of ten outside. Miracle we made it out of the Northeast alive."

"Congratulations," Dean offered.

"Don't congratulate me, boy. We started out as a group of thirty-five."

"What happened?" Sam asked.

"One man got sick," Rufus explained. "Pneumonia. Don't know how or why. A couple of people stayed behind to take care of him. They're all dead now. Sickness and wildlife. Had a woman give birth. Baby died, too. And then we started having dreams."

"About the girl?" Dean asked.

"About the _demon_. About the wife of Satan himself." Rufus sighed, running a hand over his lined face. "A couple of big chunks of people headed up to New York to try and save her. Group of demons went to get 'em back a day later. None came back."

"What do you suggest we do about that?"

"We're not gonna do anything," Rufus said.

"Then what should _I_ do about it?" Dean questioned.

The newcomer smirked. "You ain't gonna do nothing but get yourself killed, kid. You may have come out different, but you're still just half-blood. You try doing what you're thinking of doing, you gonna be in for a world of hurt."

Sam glared at his brother. "What's he talking about?"

"I was thinking," Dean said slowly, careful to avoid the eyes of both psychics, "that we need to stop these people from making the mistake of going after her. We need to tell the ones still out there about what's going to happen, or stop her from trying to contact them at night."

"Makes sense. But…?"

"But nothing, Sam. We go in and stop her."

"Dreamwalking?"

"Bingo."

Sam shook his head. "No way. Besides, where-?"

"Don't need it," Dean cut him off. "Got the whole psychic thing going for me."

"Got the whole ineptitude thing going, too," Rufus chimed in. "Let me ask you something, Dean. You get the feeling back in your face yet?"

Dean swallowed hard, staring daggers at the man. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Sure you do. There's no way you push yourself that hard without some side effects. The blood was visible. The numb spot, not so much. Right under your left eye, wasn't it?"

"It doesn't matter," Dean muttered. "People are gonna die."

"And one of them's gonna be you," Sam snapped, catching his brother's attention. "Ruby and Meg told me the same thing. You keep doing this, you're gonna die."

"Somebody has to do it," the older man pointed out.

"Then I will."

"Thought you weren't gonna lead the demon army?"

Sam sighed. "I'm not. But I'm not gonna stand by and let you kill yourself, either. Especially not with Ben around."

Dean grinned. "See, now that wasn't so hard, was it?"

"You owe me."

"Whatever, Haley Joel. Tonight work for you? I figure, the sooner, the better."

"You set me up for this."

"Who?" Dean asked, feigning innocence. "Me? Never." He glanced at Rufus, who didn't seem as pleased to hear them come to an agreement.

"You watch your back, boy," the wizened hunter cautioned. "She won't take kindly to an intrusion like the one you're planning."

"He'll be fine," Dean said. "We all will."

Rufus glared at him, as if sizing him up, trying to identify the slight hint of fear behind the false bravado, the uncertainty behind the confidence. Sending family into danger was the last thing Dean Winchester wanted to do.

The door opened again, this time revealing Ben. "There's a group from Kansas and Nebraska here," he said. "And some woman from Missouri wants to talk to you."

Dean grinned at his son's mistake. "Send her in." He glanced at Sam and Rufus. "He meant the psychic," he clarified, "not the state."

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

"This is stupid," Sam muttered, glaring at his brother. "I can't believe I let you talk me into this."

"It's not like it'll be hard," Ruby said. "Just like those quick trips you took down south, only without the risk of being burnt to a crisp."

Grumbling, the psychic laid himself back on the bed, trying to ignore the two sets of eyes staring at him. The sun had set over an hour before, but he wasn't tired, wasn't even remotely sleepy, and definitely wasn't looking forward to trying to enter a state of lucid dreaming to take down the demon that Rufus had called 'the wife of Satan.'

He would have given anything for lollipops and candy canes.

"And you're sure I can do it?" he asked.

Ruby groaned. "Yes."

"Rufus and Missouri agreed," Dean said. "Now close your eyes and go to sleep. We've got people to save, demons to molest." Sam sat up and stared at him. "What? It means annoy. Honestly, am I the only one with a thesaurus?"

The younger man rolled his eyes and laid back down, punching at the pillow until he was comfortable. He closed his eyes.

"Now concentrate," Ruby coached. "Focus on what you want to do. See it in your mind, feel it in your bones."

She kept talking, but he wasn't listening. He was thinking. Not focusing, really, just thinking. He had to wonder why he was doing what he was doing. Who was to know that he couldn't close the door on his abilities, that he couldn't lock them back up? Just because he'd failed to the first time didn't mean that he would the second. Yet here he was, trying to tap into something planted in him by evil. And at his brother's urging, too.

Sam sighed, squirming a bit. He felt weightless, light, as if he were floating. He rolled over, away from the sound of Ruby's voice, grateful as it began to trail off into nothingness.

It was so dark, darker than the room had been before. And it was quiet. He couldn't hear the demon's coaching, or his brother's worried fidgeting. He dared to open his eyes, to look at his surroundings.

He wasn't in Bobby's house anymore, wasn't even in South Dakota. He was standing on hard-packed dirt. He knew the place, had visited it every night for three weeks in what he'd assumed was just an average dream, nothing notable, just _there_.

Stuffing his hands into his pockets, Sam started off down the road, keeping his eyes open for the girl. It didn't take too long for him to find her. She was curled up against the base of a tree, her knees pulled tightly to her chest, face buried in the simple white dress she wore. She sniffled as Sam approached, his footsteps giving away his presence.

"Who's there?" she asked, her voice small.

"My name's Sam," the hunter replied. She stiffened visibly, and he waited for the dream to end, to wake up back at Bobby's and report his failure. He was surprised when she looked up at him, her eyes deadly white.

"Go away," she whispered.

Sam took another step closer. "That's not gonna work this time."

The demon scrambled to her feet, her posture alert, startled. "I said go away."

"You also told me to get back, but that didn't work, either, did it?"

Lilith stepped away from him. He stepped forward. She took another step, her eyes never leaving his figure, fear shining on her stolen face. He walked closer.

The demon turned and ran, letting out a gasp of startled air at the fact that he wasn't leaving. Sam watched her go, smiling to himself. He'd done it. He'd scared her off.

He turned around, intent on going back the way he had come, and was pleasantly surprised to find himself lying back in his bed. He sat up and stared around the room. He was in Bobby's house, in Bobby's bedroom, and both Dean and Ruby were staring at him with uncertainty in their eyes.

"I think I did it," Sam reported. "I showed up and she couldn't get rid of me, so she ran away screaming."

Dean smirked. "Some big bad she turned out to be."

"You think it's over?' Sam asked.

Ruby shrugged. "No idea. Somebody else might know, though. My money's on Rufus. Seems to have everything in this place down." She turned and left the room, letting the door shut slowly behind her.

"So," Dean said, cocking his head slightly to one side as Sam stood up and stretched. "You really think you got her, huh?"

"Scared her at least."

Dean nodded. "Hey, Sammy?"

"Yeah?"

"You ever see _1408_?"

"Yeah. You forced me to go, remember?"

"Right. Yeah. I do."

"What about it?" Sam asked, a little concerned at the angle of his brother's head. Dean wasn't exactly the head-cocking type. In fact, the last person he'd really seen do anything like that was Ruby. Of course, she hadn't really been Ruby at the time…

"You remember how he thought he got out of the hotel, but he didn't?"

Sam nodded. "Happens a lot in movies. Why?"

Dean dropped his voice to a whisper. "I can't feel part of my face." He stepped forward, up to Sam, his eyes wide and scared and innocent. "Right under my eye. Like Rufus said." He was practically nose-to-nose with his brother now. "I want you to take a look at it."

Sam nodded again, suddenly concerned. Dean was acting strange. "All right. Where is it?"

The older man grinned, holding his hand up to a spot on his cheek just under his left eye. "Right here," he said, digging his nails into the skin hard enough to draw blood.

"Dean?"

Sam watched in horror as his brother drew his nails down his cheek, pulling away the skin to reveal white bone. "Right here, Sammy," he growled. "The only place you didn't let those dogs get."

The younger man stumbled back a step, shocked as Dean raked his nails down the other side of his face, exposing high cheekbones that glinted in the pale light thrown by the candles used to illuminate the room.

"And here," Dean said, shredding his forehead.

Sam fell back on the bed, trying to close his eyes. His eyelids wouldn't listen, glistening green orbs frozen in place as his brother ripped his face apart. "You're not-"

"And then," the older man said as he cocked his bleeding head to the other side, his eyes turning milky white. "I'll release the hounds." He snapped his fingers and the door blew open. Sam watched, helpless, as something knocked his brother's body to the ground, as blood began spilling onto the floor, as invisible claws dug deep into his back, tearing even more skin from his bones.

"Stop it," Sam whispered.

Lilith looked back up at him, her eyes shining out of Dean's destroyed face, muscles working to form a tattered smile that was all too easy to see through. "I can do this forever, Sammy," she said with his brother's broken voice. "You never should have brought him back. It's all too easy for me."

"Stop it."

"I wanted to be merciful," she continued, what was left of Dean's face contorting in rage. "I was just gonna leave him there, all alone, forever. But you forced my hand. There is no rest of the wicked."

"Go to Hell!" But there was no conviction behind his voice, no power as his brother was stripped apart, flesh and blood and muscle and bone separated as he watched.

"You can't tell me what to do," Lilith growled. She reached up with a hand that was now more bone than flesh and dug sharp fingers into eyes that had changed back to their usual hazel, ripping and shredding and clawing until there was nothing but blood running down a once-handsome face.

Sam screamed.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o

He could finally close his eyes, could finally block out the horror that was in front of him, but it was too late. It had been burnt into his brain.

Someone was shaking him, but Sam didn't care. All he wanted was to get away from the nightmare, away from Lilith, from what she promised to do.

The psychic dared to open his eyes. He was in Bobby's room, in Bobby's house, and Ruby was staring at him with concern in her stolen eyes. "What happened?" she asked.

Sam shuddered and pulled away. "Have you ever seen _1408_?"

"What the hell kinda question is that? You were screaming like a maniac. Did you stop her?"

He shook his head slowly. "I'm not sure. I thought I did, but… I guess not." He blinked. "We have to end it."

"What?"

"We have to fight." He looked around the room, panic suddenly rising within him. "Where's Dean?"

"He's in his room," the demon said. "We heard the kid scream and he ran out to get him."

Sam didn't wait for the explanation. He was out of the room as soon as he had a location. He ran down the hall and slid to a stop in front of the doorway to the room that Dean and Ben had been sharing since they'd gotten back.

Dean was sitting on the edge the bed, rocking slightly back and forth, his arms wrapped tightly around a shivering bundle of clothing and blankets. Ben was curled up in his father's embrace, his sobs audible, drowning out whatever Dean was saying to try and comfort him.

Sam turned as he felt someone beside him. "What happened?" he whispered, wondering if the boy had finally had the breakdown that Dean had predicted.

Missouri sighed. "Nightmare," she replied. "Saw his daddy rip himself apart."

Sam nodded slowly, gazing back into the room. Dean had been right. There was no choice. There was only war.


	15. All's Fair

All right. Time to find out what was up with that dream, if Sam can really bring himself to go to war, and... probably some other stuff, too. Maybe. Perhaps. If I feel like it._

* * *

_

_Chapter Fifteen_

_All's Fair_

Sam didn't get much sleep. He was tired, he was scared, and he was more determined than he had ever been. It had only been a dream, only a simple set of brainwaves spiking and dropping in the darkness, but he couldn't shake the feeling that Lilith was planning something particularly nasty for his brother. A fate worse than death. An eternity of ripping, clawing, shredding pain and the inability to stop it.

Everything that he'd ever believed had been proven wrong. Yes, she was still scared of him, but not scared enough that she wouldn't find him and hurt him in the worst way possible.

He was scared, too. He'd already lost his brother once. He wasn't looking forward to doing it again. _He_ would go after _her_. _He_ would attack first. _He_ would save his brother before Dean had to die. _He_ would do things right this time.

He walked out to the back of the house, the space that had been cleared for more tents as the front of the yard got to be too crowded. A couple of the psychics with young children had erected a swingset off to one side, a place for the kids to play and keep busy while the adults fretted about what had happened and what would come next. Just beyond the small wooden set, Sam could make out the shape of a tiny graveyard, a circle of stones that Dean had likened in his mind to the pet cemetery in the popular book.

Sammy smiled at the memory, at the way his brother always tried to lighten the mood, even when burying the victims of the scouts that Lilith had sent after them. For that moment in time, through the tears caused by regret and smoke, Sam had felt better. He'd felt at home. Even if Dean hadn't opened his mouth.

Cracked dirt crunched under his feet as the hunter sauntered over to the swingset, where Dean was pushing Ben back and forth on the single plastic swing. Both were silent, both were nervous, jumpy. Sam sighed, letting whatever they were feeling wash over him, not even trying to close the door in the back of his mind. There was no use in it anymore. He knew it wouldn't stay shut. Besides, it was only open a crack, only a little bit. Maybe after everything was over, he could try again.

"I need to talk to you," he said as he stepped up to the swingset.

Dean didn't even look up at him, just kept pushing the swing, his arms working almost mechanically. "Can't right now, Sammy. I'm busy."

"It's important."

"So is this."

"It's not even gonna take a minute."

Dean stopped what he was doing and turned to Sam with tired eyes. He looked older somehow, the subtle lines by his eyes and mouth deepening as Ben slammed his feet onto the dirt and turned in the swing to wrap strong fingers into the fabric of his father's jacket. "I can't," the hunter repeated.

Sam nodded slowly, everything falling into place in his mind. It hadn't all been nervousness that he'd felt; there had been some fear mixed in, too. He glanced down at Ben, the boy who had, over a year earlier, saved a group of his peers from a hungry changeling, who dealt with sickness and death and cougars without blinking. As much as Dean didn't look like Dean at the moment, Ben didn't look like Ben, either. Both had been shaken to the core somehow.

He pulled his eyes from the frightened child. "What happened to him?"

"Same thing that happened to everyone last night," Dean explained, "he had a dream."

Sam dropped his voice. "_Everyone_ had it?"

"Everyone that was asleep, yeah. We had a group of fifty leave this morning, Sam. They just walked away. 'Bout fifteen went off to find the little girl, the rest just wanted to get the hell away from me. What happened?"

The younger man sighed, glancing back down at Ben. "Maybe we should talk inside."

"Whatever it is, he saw it, too. Just tell me."

"I was trying to scare her off," Sam explained, "get her out of people's heads. She saw me, tried to make me wake up, and couldn't, so she ran. I woke up back in the room. You and Ruby were both there. She left to talk to Rufus and see if it was over, and then it was just you and me. You started talking about those numb spots that he mentioned, you put your hand up to your face, and you just started ripping. Felt like I was watching _House of Wax._"

Dean nodded, stepping closer to the swing and wrapping a protective arm around Ben. "Sounds traumatizing."

"Then you snapped your fingers," he continued, choosing not to look at Ben as the boy buried his head in his father's shirt in a vain attempt to block out the memories of the nightmare. "That's when the hellhounds attacked. Ruby had to wake me up to bring me out of it." He lowered his voice to a whisper, unable to keep the raw fear out of his tone. "I had to watch you die again."

The older man looked down at the boy curled up at his side. "Well, that's not gonna happen."

"I know," Sam said. "I'm not gonna let it. We need to leave."

"And go where?"

"East."

Dean shook his head. "No way. Not sure if you remember, but that's where Lilith's rising to power again. She's got a whole army."

"So do we."

"Her army has a leader."

"So does ours," Sam pointed out.

"Not unless you're willing to take the reigns. I resign."

"What? Why?"

"It's just not worth it, man." He looked down at Ben and ruffled the boy's hair. "Not anymore."

"You were the one who said we should fight. You were the one who-"

"I changed my mind," Dean interrupted simply. He scooped his son up into his arms and headed back toward the house, leaving Sam to gape after him.

"Wait a minute," the younger man called out, jogging up behind him. "You're kidding, right?"

"No. Some things are more important than winning the war." He walked through the door and headed for the stairs. "My son's scared to death that something's gonna happen to me now. Sam, I'm all he's got left. I can't go off half-cocked and get myself killed in some stupid demon war. I've got a responsibility."

"What if he's ok with it?" He knew it was a weak attempt, knew that Ben would never agree, that Dean would never believe him, but he couldn't stand the thought of leaving his brother behind, of doing something this big without him. He was doing it for _him_, after all. It was to save _him._

Ben turned big eyes on Sam. "I don't want him to go."

Sam sighed. Of course. Nothing could ever be that easy. He followed Dean into the bedroom and watched as he sat down on the bed, disentangling Ben's arms from his neck and setting the boy down.

"Best of luck," Dean said, his eyes betraying the fear that sending Sam off alone would result in something he would never forgive himself for.

Sammy just stared at him, unable to believe his ears. It was wrong; all of it was wrong. Dean was supposed to be the one pressuring him, had been since people had started showing up at the salvage yard. It wasn't supposed to be the other way around. It wasn't supposed to be like this.

He didn't want to do it alone. His whole life, even when he'd been off at college, Sam had had his brother there, just a phone call away. Phones didn't work anymore. Nothing worked anymore. Life had been turned upside down and there was no way Sam was leaving Dean alone to become a sitting duck. Besides, he wasn't entirely sure he could trust himself the way Dean seemed to trust him.

When he looked in the mirror, Sam didn't see himself anymore. He saw Max and Andy and Ava and Lily. Worst of all, he saw Jake. Jake, with his super-human strength, his conviction that he was doing the right thing, his inability to keep his promise and kill the son of a bitch that had stranded them in the most lethal game of Survivor ever created. Jake, who had told Ellen to put a gun to her head.

He heard Jake's command, Ava's explanation of her evolution as something no longer good and human. Hell, even Andy had unlocked some new tricks before his death. And now Sam had opened his door, was thinking of blowing it clear off its hinges, and he was scared. He didn't want to be like Jake. He didn't want to kill himself, what made him good. He could only believe what Dean told him when Dean was there. He could only stay sane if he had a reminder of why he had started doing the unthinkable in the first place.

And still he heard Jake. He heard Andy. He heard his own voice, inside his head, whispering the first inklings of an idea. If he wanted his brother so bad, why not just take him?

Sam straightened up in the doorway. "Can I talk to him?"

Dean looked up at him. He glanced back at Ben. "That all right with you, bud? I'll be right outside the door."

Sam's heart clinched as the boy nodded slowly, thoughts of everything that could possibly go wrong in a hallway flashing through his mind in rapid succession. He was so different, so scared, actually acting like a kid instead of the little adult that Sam had gotten so used to seeing.

He really was Dean's son.

The older man slid off the bed and walked toward the door, looking back over his shoulder to flash his son a comforting smile. "Don't take too long," he whispered as he passed Sam.

Ben looked up at his uncle with mistrust in his eyes as Sam sat down beside him, wrapping one long arm around him and smiling. "I know you're scared," he said softly. "I am, too. That's why I need your dad to be with me on this one. I promise to bring him back in on piece."

Ben shook his head. "You let him die. You let him die _twice_. The girl told me so."

Sam blinked. "She talked to you?"

"Yeah. She said you wouldn't stop her. She said you couldn't."

"Well, she was wrong. Don't you trust me?"

Ben shrugged. "I trust me dad."

"Your dad trusts me."

"He has to. You're his brother."

Sam nodded. "That means I'm your uncle."

"I'm not stupid."

"I know you're not." Sam paused, thinking about what he was about to do. He felt the chair he'd stuck by the door slip a bit as he called forth something new, something dangerous, something that, under any other circumstances, might have actually been fun to play with. "Let him come with me." He squeezed Ben's shoulder as he gently pushed whatever unseen force he'd summoned out at the boy.

Ben stiffened in his grip, then relaxed, a shy smile forming on his lips. "Guess I _was_ being kinda stupid." He nodded. "He needs to go with you." A bit of doubt crept into his voice on the last word.

"You'll be fine," Sam said, pushing at the boy with his mind again.

"Yeah. I'll be fine."

"Good," Sam agreed. "Now go play." He gave the kid a playful shove and watched as he left the room, still smiling. Maybe it was wrong, maybe he'd feel guilty about it later, but the instantaneous change he'd seen in Ben had been worth it.

Dean slid back into the room, eyeing Sam with suspicion. "Dude."

"What?"

"Did you just put the whammy on my son?"

Sam grinned. "Why, Dean, I'm offended. Of course not. I'm too scared to even try." He stood up and walked toward the door, brushing his brother's shoulder on the way. "You're coming with me," he said, and pushed.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

"You know you can't take the car, right?" Sam asked as he walked up behind his brother. Dean was busy digging through the Impala's trunk.

"I'm not stupid," the older man replied in a perfect imitation of his son. "Last group that went out for supplies said the roads are even worse now. That's why I'm packing everything up."

Sam eyed the heavy bags of weapons and equipment. "I'm not carrying that."

"Neither am I," Dean said. "That's what the pack mules are for." He nodded toward the crowd of near-by tents.

"We're going after an army of demons," Sam reminded him. "We can't shoot 'em, can't stab 'em, so what's all this for?"

"Better safe than sorry. Besides, I sent another group out about half an hour ago."

"For what?"

"Water and squirt guns."

Sam cocked an eyebrow. "Again, for what?"

Dean smirked. "Holy water Super Soakers." He ignored his brother's eye roll. "Figured we should hit 'em where it hurts."

"At least we'll have something to fight with." Sam sighed. "So, Ben's ok with this?"

"Whatever you did to him had a lasting effect, yeah."

The younger man nodded. "Ok. You know, I only did it because I had to, and-"

"You don't have to explain yourself to me. I was thinking about tranquilizing the poor kid. Might get him to sleep."

"What are we doing about the other kids?"

Dean grinned. "You know, for someone who's suddenly so set on going to war, you really have no idea what you're doing. I talked to a few people earlier this morning, asked them if they wanted to fight or if they wanted to stay. Missouri and Rufus offered to baby-sit. Meg's too scared to fight with us. I'm giving Tracy, Shelly, Madison, Jane, and Piper a Get-Outta-War-Free card. Someone's gotta repopulate the world."

Sam nodded. "And they're gonna watch the kids?"

"Yeah. But, uh, you're the one who has to break the news to the general public, ok? I'm not doing that."

"Thought you were the one who wanted to go to war?"

"Thought _you_ were the one who didn't?"

Sammy grinned. "You know, this whole role reversal thing we keep doing is getting pretty ridiculous."

"What do mean?" Dean asked. "It shows character growth." He slammed the trunk shut. "Now go rally the troops."

Shaking his head, Sam walked off toward the tents, passing Ruby on the way. He ignored her as she strolled past, heading for the car. There was too much on his mind, too much to do, too much at risk.

The demon sauntered up to Dean and stood, hip popped, arms crossed. "You told Meg you wanted to see me?"

"Yeah," Dean said. "I have a special job for you."

She cocked an eyebrow. "You're not my type."

"And I'd rather kill you than do anything close to what you're insinuating. Point is, I don't trust you to go with us, or to stay here."

"So what do you want me to do?"

Dean pulled a small stack of papers from the inside of his jacket and handed them to her. "My dad did a bunch of research of Lawrence, Kansas after mom died," he explained. "Most of his focus was on Stull. Apparently, it's one of the few places on Earth where the Devil will appear."

"Yeah, I've heard the legend. Why are you telling it to me?"

"I had a good friend of mine go take some pictures there," he said. "Those are the important ones."

Ruby looked at the stack of print-offs in her hands. Most of them were of a some kind of old crypt or mausoleum sitting out amongst the gravestones. "So?"

"Look at the name."

"Colt."

"Now look at the door."

She narrowed her eyes, holding the paper close to her face, squinting to make out what looked like a pentagram etched into the rusting metal. In the middle of the pattern was a small slit. "It's a Devil's Gate."

Dean nodded. "See the lock?" She nodded. He reached back into his jacket and drew out the knife he'd stolen from her four months earlier. "This is the key. You want it back, fine. But you have to earn it."

Ruby glared up at him. "You want me to open a gate to Hell?"

"Release everyone who died of this damned disease, and you can keep your little sticker here, all right?"

She smiled, reaching toward it. "All right."

Dean snatched it back before her fingers could even brush it. "You let all those people rot down there, and I will hunt you down myself and make sure you join them. Got it?"

"Got it." She wrapped her fingers around her prized possession and smiled. "To Kansas."

o0o0o0o0o0o0o

It was two days before everyone was packed and ready. A few of the older psychics, the more frightened demons, and the few people with health concerns stood behind the ever-increasing group of children to wave the troops off the war.

The brothers stood at the front of the pack, the army that had sought them out falling in behind them as they traveled down the rough dirt road that led away from the Singer Salvage Yard.

Less than a mile from the house, a group of late-coming demons joined them. Three miles after that, two more psychics fell into step with the group. Even as they marched off to war, their number grew.


	16. Campfire Stories

Thanks for reading, you guys. gotta post this one quick. I'm leaving for a college thing soon and need to pack._

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_Chapter Sixteen_

_Campfire Stories_

There weren't any trains. There weren't any people left to run the trains. Something down the line must have run into a transformer, or tripped a sensor, or done _something_ to make the gates stay down and the bells chime.

They'd stopped out of habit, looking first left, then right, trying to see the engine. But there weren't any trains.

It was creepy, really. The bells that warned of the approach of the machine clanged loudly, echoing through the small town as the nervous group of survivors crossed the tracks. For the first time since Lilith had released her suped-up virus, Dean felt like he was in a horror movie set after the apocalypse.

There was something about the sound, about the way they had to weave themselves through the red and white striped arms to get over the metal tracks that humbled them all into silence. This was one of man's great creations, something that they had taken for granted, a safety measure that was no longer needed.

Because there weren't any trains.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Dean stared into the flames, watching them flicker and dance as his mind wandered. He hated to be there, to leave his son behind, especially since he wasn't sure if he was going to make it back to the salvage yard in one piece. Sam had been particularly persuasive, though, and the elder Winchester hadn't had much of a choice. Besides, it was for the best, even the recently re-awakened paternal part of his brain admitted that.

Sam shifted beside him, poking at the fire with a stick he'd grabbed from a downed tree a few yards back. The whole camp was quiet except for the sound of fires crackling and tents being erected.

The night seemed eerily dark and suffocating, mostly due to the lack of street lights and noises. Sure, there were animal calls, but it was hardly the same as conversation. And over all the silence, the darkness, the sheer terror of being the last ones left, the scent of death rose.

"You know," Dean said, choosing to break the silence before he was driven mad by it. "I'm surprised at you."

Sam barely turned to him. "Why?"

"I dunno," Dean shrugged. "It just seems like you changed your mind pretty fast there."

"I have my reasons."

"And I'm not saying you don't. It was just… unexpected."

"Do you want to go back?" Sam asked. "'Cause we can always go back."

Dean shook his head. "I guess I'm just looking for the reasoning is all."

"I don't want to watch you get ripped apart again. How's that?"

"Good," Dean replied. "Not really looking forward to that, either."

"Don't understand why you're questioning me," Sam said. "I'm just doing what you wanted me to. I'm leading the army and fighting the demons and probably bringing about the apocalypse."

"Hate to break it to ya, but I think that already hit."

"I just don't know how you can trust me to do this and not go completely postal." Dean opened his mouth to reply, but Sam cut him off. "And if you try feeding me crap about my soul again-"

"You come to a fork in the road," Dean said, throwing his brother off.

"What?"

"You're walking along, and you come to a fork in the road. People are dying all around you, and here you are, alive and well, just staring at these two paths. One goes East and promises to be easy. The other goes West and involves some work, maybe even you having to trust some people you don't. You go East, and you'll die, quick and easy. You go West, and you'll have to fight, maybe die slow and sloppy." He met Sam's eyes. "Which road do you take?"

Sam leaned away form the flames and considered. "I guess I'd take the road les traveled by," he finally said, "and go North."

Dean snorted. "North?"

"What? Lots of people flee to Canada in times of war. Plus, a lot of movies and TV shows shoot up there. They've got a bunch of cool actors."

"Cool, _dead_ actors. Now, come on. Answer the question."

The younger man sighed. "You know I'd go with you. I'd go West. I'd fight. I _am_ fighting. I'm here, aren't I? So, what's the point?"

"The point is," Dean said, "to forget what you're _supposed_ to do, and make a choice. Take away blood and death and destiny and disease and all you've got left is free will. You always have a choice."

"But what if you don't make the right one?"

Dean shrugged. "I like to think people can learn from their mistakes."

"But what if they can't? What if they just make things worse? What if you choose to do something, but then you can't undo it? What if, no matter how hard you try, you can't fix things?"

"That depends on what you think needs fixing. One man's salt is another man's salvation."

Sam looked down at the ground, drawing little circles in the dirt with his stick. "What if you unlocked a door, pulled it open, and then couldn't close it? What if you couldn't lock it back up again? What if stuff got out that you didn't want to let out, and you couldn't get it back in?"

Dean didn't say anything for a while, just stared back at the flames, thinking. He had a feeling he knew what Sam was talking about, knew by the soft, scared tone of his voice that it was about more than just going off to war. "I'd choose to control it," he said. "I'd choose to use it instead of getting scared and hiding in a corner for the rest of my life. I'd help people." He looked back at Sam. "All you have to do is choose."

Sammy nodded. "I guess. But all of this stuff, one thing leading to another, doesn't it seem a little… _planned_ to you?"

"The demon made a choice," Dean said. "Azazel picked you. Could have picked me, but he didn't. He chose you. Mom chose to run into the room. Dad chose to go in after her. He chose to find the thing that killed her. That thing chose to come after you again. You chose to come back on the road with me. The demon chose to escape and try to kill us all. He chose to make a deal with dad. He chose to take you to Cold Oak. You chose not to kill Jake, and he chose to kill you instead. I chose to not stand for that. You chose to shoot a traitor. You chose to save me. I chose to finish this." He sighed. "Now it's your turn. Make your choice."

Their campsite fell into silence as they both stared into the flames, Dean waiting for an answer, Sam searching for one. The fire flickered, its strength fading as the night wore on and the wind came in.

"Gotta get some more wood," Dean muttered, spinning on the rock they were using as a bench to grab a flashlight.

He flung his hands out into the darkness, searching for something to help him find some more suitable sticks, quietly cursing himself for letting the fire get so low that he couldn't see more than a foot in front of him.

His shadow lengthened ahead of him, spreading out as the fire climbed higher and higher behind him. Raising an eyebrow, Dean turned back to the flames to find them sparking with renewed life, as if they'd never faded to embers at all.

"Did you?" he asked, turning to Sam.

The younger man grinned. "Now who's the jealous one?"

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Sam had chosen. He wasn't entirely sure that he'd made the right choice, but judging by the big smile on his older brother's face, Dean was.

The younger Winchester stared up at the stars from his sleeping bag, scared to take the plunge and let himself fall into Dreamland. He knew what was waiting for him there, knew who was waiting. He'd had the dream every night since he'd tried to stop Lilith, had watched his brother strip flesh from bones and rip eyes from sockets.

He couldn't stop thinking about that evening, about the way Dean had looked at him after. The gaze had been familiar, warm, the same as always. He wasn't any different in his brother's eyes.

He could still remember the way his father had looked at him after he'd let it slip that he'd seen a woman die before she actually had. His stare had changed, had turned hard and cold- not a lot, mind you, but enough that someone who had spent eighteen straight years with the man could notice.

Sam had been nervous at first. He knew that Dean said it would be all right, but Dean didn't always say what he meant. That was why he'd waited until the older man's back was turned to do it. He didn't want a witness in case his brother had been lying.

He had focused on the fire, had nudged the door open just a bit more, and watched as the flames burst back to life before his eyes. Looking back, he wasn't sure what was the most amazing part of the ordeal, the look in his brother's eyes, or his own ability to control what he had done.

"Hey, Dean," he whispered, his mind wandering past the evening and to the day.

"Yeah?" the older man replied, his voice groggy.

"Where's Ruby?"

He could hear the smile in his brother's voice. "Sent her on a special errand."

"What?"

"Keep you outta Hell."

Sam narrowed his eyes in confusion. There was no way he'd heard that right. He shook his head, figuring Dean was probably half asleep. He sighed, his body begging for sleep, even as his heart and mind protested it. He closed his eyes.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o

The day was bright and sunny, the unnatural silence unnerving as the troops marched onward. They'd been picking up more groups and stragglers since the day they'd left, never stopping their movement except to sleep and eat.

They had one motive, one mission. They were marching east, marching into battle. Marching because to sit still would mean creating an easy target, and that was something that none of them wanted.

The brothers stayed in the lead at all times, one or the other falling back when they were needed. They had a compass and holy water, some food, and nothing else. The others had more supplies, and marched under their burdens without complaint.

The demons were used to obedience, knew that to voice a complaint was a death sentence. At least, it would have been on the other side, up east, where the rules were stringent and the leader heartless.

The psychics just followed the demonic lead, having been pulled into something bigger than themselves seemingly overnight. They had never asked for war. They had just been scared, fallen into groups, had gone where the more experienced, the ones who had a clue, had gone.

They were a rag-tag group at best, definitely not suited for war. Still, they walked to the east, to the war, to the other army that was formed in darkness, despair, and death.

Sam hefted his bag up higher on his shoulder as he stared at the hill that loomed before them. They were making good time, heading out of the flatter country of the Midwest and into the rolling hills of the East.

Dean stopped beside him and followed his gaze. "What is this?" he asked, "the fifth in the past mile?"

Sammy nodded. "Should have brought your hiking boots." He started up the hill, glancing back at the small army behind him as he went.

They were getting close. He could feel it, feel it in the way that he was starting to feel things as he slowly opened himself up, in the way that Dean claimed to have felt him. They were getting close, and Lilith knew it.

He crested the hill with Dean at his side and stopped. They stared out over the valley together, their mouths opening in shock.

What should have been a wide, green expanse with a dirt road cutting through it had been filled to the brim with tents, campfires, and people. Clouds of black smoke hovered in the air, waiting for suitable bodies in a world where humans had been wiped almost completely off the map.

The rest of Sam's troop stopped behind them, also looking out at the camp. They'd found their opponents. They'd found Lilith's army.


	17. Just Give The Signal

Hey, guys. I'm back from "college." Kool-Aid Days was rainy, but fun. Y'all need to try the mango flavor. It's amazing.

So, how about that war?

* * *

_Chapter Seventeen_

_Just Give The Signal_

"Dude," Dean breathed.

Sam nodded. "Yeah."

"Think they see us?"

From out in the valley, someone shouted. "Hey, Sammy!"

"Yes, Dean," Sam muttered through clenched teeth. "I think they've seen us." He glanced back at the small army that he had never wanted to amass, the mixture of demons and psychics armed to the teeth with holy water, rosaries, and squirt guns. They didn't stand a chance, not against the writhing mass of flesh and smoke that inhabited the valley.

He looked back down at the other army, the group of demons that wanted to end him, and gasped. Someone was walking up the hill toward them, her arms raised in a sign of peace, long brown hair waving in the slight breeze.

"Please," she gasped, "you have to help me. They won't let me go."

Sam raised his eyebrows, unable to believe his eyes. "Sarah?"

Sarah Blake nodded, her pretty mouth stretching into a smile as recognition dawned on both Winchesters' faces. "Yeah. Yeah, it's me."

"You're psychic?"

She dropped her hands, shaking her head wildly. "It's _inside _me," she whispered. "I can feel it. I can hear it. I can barely hold it off. Sam, you have to help me."

"Wait, you're possessed?"

She nodded. "Please, you have to get it out of me."

"We can't," Dean said.

"Why not?" she questioned. "You can't just leave me like this."

"If we exorcise it," he explained, "you'll die. Right now, that demon's the only thing keeping you alive."

"Then get me out of here," she begged, her eyes darting between them. "Please. I can't stay here. Not with that… _thing_." Sarah shuddered, wrapping slender arms around herself.

"What thing?" Sam asked, glancing back down into the valley, where the demons sat, waiting for them, watching them.

"The little girl," Sarah explained. "The blind one. The one this thing inside of me brought me to see." She stepped closer to Sam, as if asking him to wrap his arms around her, to protect her from what the world had become. "She's not blind. And she's not a little girl."

"She's a demon," Dean said.

"She's in a twelve-year-old."

"Yeah, she loves kids."

Sarah shook her head, stepping closer to Sam until he got the hint and wrapped his arms around her, holding her close. "I led people to her. I brought them here. I tried not to, but I… I couldn't stop it. And she took them, and she… _killed_ some of them, and the rest she let her army take and they possessed them and I'm so scared."

"It's ok," Sam said. "It's almost over."

"What do you mean?"

He stepped back, turning her body slightly with his hands, and revealed the small army behind him. "We're gonna fight."

Sarah looked up at him with wide eyes. "She's scared of you."

Sam nodded. "So I've heard."

"No, I mean _really_ scared. Sam, she's not gonna stand for this. She's not gonna let you do this."

"She doesn't really have a choice," Dean chimed in.

"She'll kill you," Sarah argued. "_Both _of you." She looked back at the army behind them. "_All_ of you."

"At least we tried," Dean shrugged. "Besides, we've got a couple of new tricks up our sleeves."

"Oh? Like what?" she asked, her attention turning from the army to Sam. She gazed up at him expectantly, hungrily, her eyes glistening.

"Let's just say we've unlocked some true potential," Dean smirked, realizing that Sam wasn't going to give her an answer.

Sarah cocked her head slightly to one side. "Really? I can't wait to see."

"Yeah, neither can I," Sam muttered. He looked past her head to the valley, to the army that awaited them, the army that was watching them expectantly, waiting for something. "They see us, right?"

Dean nodded. "Looks like."

"Then why aren't they attacking us?"

The older man shrugged. "Waiting for the signal, maybe?" He glanced at Sarah. "Is there a signal?"

"Yeah," she said. "There's a signal. They're waiting for something to happen, something big."

"What is it?" Sam asked, suddenly nervous. He was surrounded on all sides by demons, and could only hope that the ones behind him really were there to back him up. They were fidgeting, anxious, ready to start the fight that had been brewing for centuries.

"I don't know," Sarah shrugged. "All I know is that when it happens, everybody will know. Everybody will see. It'll be huge, something you can't miss."

"But you have no idea what this big bang is?" Dean questioned.

"I only know what it lets me know," she replied sadly. "I'm sorry."

"Hey, it's all right," Sam said, stepping around her to stare down at Lilith's army, putting himself between a woman he'd never thought he'd see again and the force that had recently taken her.

Why weren't they attacking? Why wasn't Lilith giving the signal? What was she waiting for?

And just how big was big?

"Maybe we should start things off," Dean suggested, stepping forward to join his brother.

Sam shook his head. "Something isn't right."

"They won't attack until she tells them to," Sarah said. "If you go down there now, they can't stop you. They'll wait for her. If they don't, she'll kill them. Either way, her numbers thin."

"I've just got a bad feeling about this," Sam said. "Why hasn't she given them the signal?"

Sarah shrugged. "Just cocky, I guess."

He turned back around to face her. "She wouldn't be this cocky if she's as scared of me as everyone says."

"Maybe she's taking a nap? It doesn't matter why she's taking her sweet time, Sam, as long as she is. You can win this thing. You can win it, and you can help me. Please, I can feel it inside me. I can't hold it back much longer. You need to end it."

The psychic sighed. She had a point. He knew she did. He just couldn't help but feeling that something was off, something was not right, something was deadly, dangerous, looming closer the longer they waited.

Sarah stared up at him with an indescribable look in her eyes. She seemed hopeful, lost, scared, and excited all at the same time. Her saviors had come, backed by a sad excuse for an army, to save her from the Hell some random demon had decided to put her through. Sure, she was safe, was alive, but at what price?

"Ok," Sam said. "Yeah. We should go down there and get things started before Lilith decides to do whatever it is that she's gonna do."

Dean grinned. "That's the spirit." He turned back to their troops. "Ready, men?" There was a general murmur of approval through the ranks. "Awesome."

"Stay here, all right?" Sam said, looking down at Sarah.

"All right," she said, leaning up to peck him on the cheek. He grinned. "And another," she said, voice low, "for luck."

She leaned up as he leaned down, their lips connecting in a soft moment that brought back memories of normal, safe, loved. She had been the one to understand, to charge full-force into the unknown, to take the lead, to not cower or shrink away. He had been open and honest with a girl for once in his life and it didn't lead to rejection.

Jealousy tingled in the corner of Sam's mind, but he pushed it away. It wasn't his fault Dean couldn't have that, someone who would understand, who would trust him. Besides, how was he to know that Sarah had survived, that she would be here, waiting for him? It was almost too convenient.

She slid her hands onto his chest, her palms flat, trailing across his body. She rested them there for a second, long enough to steady her body and adjust her weight, and pushed.

Their lips disconnected as Sam fell backward, arms pinwheeling, down the hill toward the waiting mob of demons.

Dean watched his brother skid to a stop on the grassy hill only a few feet from the army. He glared at Sarah, the hair on the back of his neck rising as the air charged around him and the faint scent of sulfur wafted on the breeze.

The woman looked up at him, her eyes milky white, and smiled. "Hiya, Dean."

"You're not twelve," he commented, his eyes flicking to Sam as the younger man climbed back to his feet behind her.

"And you're not dead. Can't always get what we want."

"Why Sarah?"

"Why not?" the demon asked, cocking her head to the side, her grin never faltering. "I like her body. It's all grown-up and pretty. Sammy likes it, too." She looked over her shoulder at Sam. "Don'cha, Sammy?"

"Go to Hell," the psychic growled.

Lilith giggled. "Silly. Why would I wanna do that? I'm having too much fun playing up here." She turned back to Dean. "You, on the other hand, can do what he says."

"Don't count on it, bitch."

The demon gasped, her mouth forming a comical 'o' of surprise. "We don't say naughty words, Dean."

"Bite me."

She smiled, a stray chuckle escaping her lips. "That's gross." The smile turned sinister. "But if you really want, I can find someone who will." She whistled.

The wind picked up immediately, the grass swaying in the breeze, trees rustling their leaves, clouds moving in to block out the sun as a faint growling reached the hunter's ears.

Dean took a small step back, away from the possessed woman, as a hulking shadow appeared at her side. The shadow twisted, gaining mass as he watched, terrified. Its shape ebbed and flowed as it lifted a shadowy snout and howled its rage at being kept at bay. Sharp muscles rippled at its side as it continued to form, smoke and fire and bone and flesh and blood and fear rising from the very depths of the earth to create a bone-chilling creature that never should have been created.

Dean stared at the hellhound. The hellhound stared back. It licked its chops.

Lilith snapped her fingers. The hound howled again, happy to be released, and leapt.

Dean dove to the side, barely avoiding the quivering mass of smoke and muscle. The dog hit the ground hard, whining as it got a snout full of dirt, and paused long enough to right itself.

The hunter took the mild distraction and used it to really start the festivities. He glared at Lilith, focusing on the demon, and jerked his head to the side, toward the spot where Sam had fallen.

The demon lifted off her feet and flew through the air, right into Sam's outstretched arms. "Hey, there, kiddo," he growled. "You miss me?"

She struggled to escape Sam's grip. "Depends," she hissed. "You miss your brother?" She looked back up the hill toward Dean, who was walking in a slow circle, his eyes never leaving something that neither of them could see.

Sam threw the demon the ground with a harsh grunt and looked back up at his army, the mass of psychics and demons that watched with fascination as Dean hit the dirt, lashing out at his invisible opponent. "Go!" the psychic yelled as Lilith regained her feet.

The army snapped out of its stupor and proceeded to run down the hill, squirt guns held at the ready. Lilith grinned as they raced past her, giving her a wide berth on either side, careful to avoid the deadliest evil they would ever encounter.

"Let's make this interesting," she cooed. She waved a hand toward her own army, and they immediately fell into motion, clashing with the few soldiers under Sam's control. She glanced back up at Dean, who was backing quickly down the hill, his arm thrown out in a psychic attempt to stop the raging hound. She turned back to Sam. "And then there were two."


	18. Bring The Children To Me

All right. The war has begun, the hounds have been sicced on Dean, and Sam is basically having a staring contest with Lilith. What could possibly happen next? And am I really as evil as the title of this chapter suggests? Read on to find out!_

* * *

_

_Chapter Eighteen_

_Bring The Children To Me_

They circled each other, the demon that had slowly risen to power in the East, and Azazel's chosen soldier. They glared at each other, one with white, dead eyes, the other with soft green ones. They were what it all came down to, the two competitors that were left, vying for power either by sheer force of will or bad luck

The victor of the war would decide the fate of the world, the state of things in the post-apocalyptic realm that they inhabited. One would rule through fear, the other through means unknown at that moment.

It was a battle to the death, a battle for the throne, for control, for life. The war raged on around them, the shrieks of demons, of psychics, of people who had no business even being there echoing through the low valley.

The hellhound growled, advancing on its victim as sweet lifeblood ran from his nose. The new psychic wiped it away, focusing everything he had on diverting the beast, on avoiding the wicked claws that only he could see, the teeth that glinted in the weak sunlight, the promise of a torturous eternity.

Lilith smiled. "How you gonna kill me, Sammy? You lost your gun. Dean gave away your knife." She stopped her motion and stood staring at him, one eyebrow quirked in confusion. She turned her head toward the battle in the valley, the throng of survivors that fought to the finish. "Where's your black-eyed skank?"

o0o0o0o0o0o0o

The day was clouded over, the streets suspiciously silent. Dried grass crunched under high-heeled boots as the demon approached the gate to the cemetery, her knife clutched protectively in one slender hand.

Ruby reached forward and opened the gate, flinching as it squealed on hinges badly in need of a good oiling. She stepped into the graveyard, smirking at what the simple action meant.

"Hallowed my ass," she muttered, for no other reason than to simply hear a human voice. She was starting to understand why the psychics had joined the groups of demons on their trek to the salvage yard. As much as she hated to admit it, she would have killed for a companion. She supposed it was that little bit of human left in her after years in hellfire.

She shook her head. "Of course it isn't hallowed. Devil appears every year. Can't be too holy, now, can it?"

Her voice was lost in the silent expanse. Ruby shuddered. It was creepy, to say the least. Abandoned, dried up, ancient, a breeding ground for the evil that had followed the Winchesters throughout their lives.

Crumbling tombstones surrounded the demon as she picked her way through the graveyard, stumbling every now and again on a stray piece of rock that jutted dangerously up toward the cloudy sky.

She wondered how the boys were doing, if the war was being won. They stood half a chance now, but was half enough?

Ruby shook her head, pulling herself from her thoughts. She had a job to do, a job assigned to her by her least favorite person, but a job nonetheless. And it was the right thing to do, releasing good souls from Hell.

The crypt loomed ahead of her, decrepit, but still in tact. There was no giant Devil's Trap around the tomb, the evil that visited the cemetery yearly having destroyed it long ago. It was a force that nothing could hold, neither key nor cage, lock nor trap.

She approached the tomb, sliding her knife from its sheath at her side. The rusted metal reeked of sulfur, the smell permeating the air around the tomb, turning it foul and sour. The small slit in the middle of the pentagram that had been etched into the door was devoid of any decay, and she was grateful for that. Less work on her part.

The key slid easily into the lock, clicking securely into place. Ruby turned it, watching as the rust-coated metal whirled around, the tumblers falling back. She pulled her knife from its place and stepped back as the doors began to shake, sending large flakes of thin red metal to the ground.

She took another step back as the old hinges strained against the onslaught of hellspawn and damned souls fighting to get out of the Gate.

The doors slammed open suddenly, spilling a writhing mass of black smoke into the air. Fast on the cloud's tail was a large group of people, their spirits flickering pale white as they again saw the light of day. Before the demon's eyes, the ghosts began to glow, their souls moving on to whatever was originally meant for them.

She thought about closing the door. She really did. But there were so many people still pouring out, so many souls left unclaimed, that she couldn't. Besides, the endgame had arrived, the time had come to fight. Locking the gates of Hell again wouldn't do any good. The soldiers would get out, one way or another.

The demon turned, sheathing her knife back at her side, and walked from the cemetery. Yeah. They could always lock back up later, once the end had come and a winner had been decided.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

The dog ran at him, its teeth gnashing in rage at its own inability to finish off its target. It had tasted his blood, his pain, his fear. It had ripped his soul from his body, shredding his hopes of salvation. It wanted to feel the pleasure of doing so again.

Dean wasn't sure how much longer he could hold the damned thing off. He tossed it away with a wave of his hand, sending it crashing to he ground, but it got right back up and snarled at him again.

He wiped the smear of blood away from his nose, knowing that he should stop what he was doing, but unable to calm the fear that letting the dog within five feet of himself would result in certain death. It jumped, he focused, it flew. That was the way it was going to be, until one of them gave up or the war was won.

Dean chanced a glance back down the hill, to where Sam and Lilith stood, staring at each other.

The hellhound pounced again.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

"I'm not gonna let you win."

"Silly Sammy," the demon sighed. "You don't have a choice."

He blinked, startled by what she had said. "I always have a choice."

"But I have leverage." She grinned and turned to look out over the valley, to the other hill that crested beyond the small dip in land where the war raged on. "Bring the children to me," she called, her smile widening, turning sinister as she looked back at Sam. "For my kingdom belongs to such as these."

He followed where her gaze had lingered, his eyes widening as they landed on the crest of the other hill. Another group of demons had appeared, each one holding a child that he recognized, a child that he had left behind in South Dakota. "No."

"And the other one," Lilith demanded.

One of the demons stepped forward, his hands clasped tightly around a woman's arms. He recognized her as Meg's latest body. "What are you doing? Leave them out of this."

Lilith just smiled. "Little Meg's been a thorn in my side," she said. "The last of Azazel's little brats. Say good-bye to your girlfriend, Sammy." She raised her hand toward the other hill, cackling as it began to glow with death-light.

Sam cried out for her to stop, knowing that everything in her path would be destroyed, the armies and children included. She didn't heed his command, though, and only stopped when the girl's mouth flew open and Meg exited in a cloud of black smoke, leaving the body to fall slack to the ground.

The demon slammed her hand back to her side, her fingers balling into a fist. "That wasn't very fun." She looked back at Sam. "What do you say we change things up a bit, huh?"

She nodded, apparently a signal for something to happen. Sam watched helplessly as Ben was dragged to the front of the group on the other hill, pulled roughly along until everyone in the valley could see him clearly.

Everyone, including Dean.

The elder Winchester let out a primal scream loud enough to shake the pebbles scattered across the ground and cause Sam's blood to run cold. He stumbled up from his crouched position on the ground and began to run full-tilt into the fray, intent upon crossing it to reach his son.

He dashed past the two leaders, only to be knocked down by something neither of them could see. He went down hard, all oxygen ripped from his lungs with a harsh grunt before wicked claws began digging their way across his back, leaving long, red gashes in his skin and clothes.

Sam was on Lilith in an instant, shocking her into submission as he slammed her to he ground, his large hands curving around her throat.

"Think of Sarah," the demon gasped, her stolen voice ragged as Sam applied pressure to her windpipe.

"I think she'd thank me," he spat, his mind on anything but the pretty girl. He needed to save Dean, to save the kids, to end the struggle. He needed to end the little white-eyed bitch that had caused him so much grief. "Mercy killing, and all."

Lilith smiled again, a smug expression that didn't fit Sarah Blake's face. "You really think you can do it? You really think you're like me?"

"I'm nothing like you."

"That's right. You'd never slaughter to win a war, never wipe powerful psychics off the map. You're too good. You let them play babysitter while you went off to war."

He faltered for just a second, a brief moment in time when all he heard were those words and the sound of his brother struggling under the bulk of an invisible hound.

She wriggled out from under him, landing a kick to his chest that sent him sprawling out on his back. "You killed them?" he wheezed.

"Well, what did you think I was gonna do with them? I couldn't let them stop me."

"Missouri, and Rufus, and all-"

Lilith nodded. "Yep. You shouldn't have left them, Sammy. They were safer with you." She smirked. "Unlike Dean."

He looked back at his brother, at the blood seeping slowly through the layers of clothing, the look of pure determination and rage on the older man's face. Sam blinked, shaking his head, unable to clear the image of Dean being ripped apart, his soul torn from his body as blood sprayed crude patterns across the floor and Lilith laughed.

Whatever he could do, whatever Yellow-Eyes had left within him, it had needed a trigger. Watching his brother die had been a damned good one. The memories assaulted his mind, burning his brain as he tried to focus, as he attempted to do something he'd failed at the first time.

He could feel it, pushing at that door in his mind, begging to get out. It was so strong, so raw, so _powerful_. He risked letting it leak out, just a bit, just enough to do what needed to be done.

Sam opened his eyes, forcing the memories away, and gasped. He could see it. He could see it swimming slowly into focus, a hulking shadow, a mass of terror, sinewy muscle, and rock-hard bone. It was sitting on top of his brother, pushing the air from Dean's lungs, clawing at his back, jumping off sometimes to provide a false sense of safety before going back to snapping at his ankles.

Sam saw it, and he called it.

He stood up, pushing himself on tired arms, strained arms, arms that just wanted it to be over. It was his turn to smile, his turn to show Lilith that he wasn't as goody-goody as she thought.

"Here, boy."

His voice was deeper than it had ever been, more dangerous, _commanding_. The hound instantly obeyed, stepping away from Dean and trotting up to Sam's side.

The older brother stopped his futile army-crawl down the hill and turned, propping himself up with one elbow and meeting Sam's eyes with confusion.

Sam softened his smile, unconsciously reaching down toward the dog and scrubbing a large hand over its head, as if it were a pet. He saw the thanks written in Dean's gaze as the older man staggered to his feet and pushed onward into the fight, toward his son.

Sammy turned back to Lilith, who appeared not to have noticed that her pet had a new master. The psychic twisted his features until they were as close to sinister as he could make them. He grinned. "Sic 'er."


	19. The Stand

Funny story: I got so distracted by the new promo stills that I almost forgot to update! Hee._

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_Chapter Nineteen_

_The Stand_

He had loved her, had kissed her, had found understanding and compassion within her. He'd hated to leave her, to go along his way, to save her from his life.

He'd failed her.

It wasn't a mercy killing.

Sarah Blake was dying, ripped apart by a canine that had been summoned from the depths of Hell, and Sam could only watch, only smile, only tell it to keep going. Guilt, fear, and a sickness so deep that it knew no bounds tugged at his heart as Lilith screamed, her shrieks of pain drawing the attention of the warring armies.

He voice rose over the soldiers' cries, both terrifying and pathetic at once. Human screams faded into demonic ones, tones that hurt his ears, threatening to split his skull with their viciousness, their hellishness, their finality.

He was killing another loved one. He seemed to do that a lot.

Lilith snarled, a sound that matched the hound's perfectly, and threw the beast from her failing body. She staggered to her feet, staring at it, able to make out its powerful, yet barely there form as it turned on her.

Blood dripped lazily down her face onto her now-ragged shirt, one hand straying to the deep slashes the dog had left across her stomach, the gashes that threatened to spill vital organs onto the sunny hillside.

"Bad puppy," she rasped through a throat that had been ripped almost beyond recognition. She snapped her fingers and the dog disappeared with a howl, back into the depths of Hell.

Psychic and demon stared at the spot it had inhabited, their fight quelled by the sight before them. The two armies were parting, making a path through the valley, bodies both dead and alive flying back as Dean stumbled through the mass of warriors.

Lilith turned to Sam, eyebrows raised in surprise. "He just won't die."

He narrowed his eyes at her. "Leave Dean alone. I'm the one you want."

"No. _He's_ the one I want. _He_ got away. That doesn't look very good on my permanent record."

"Record's about to be erased, sweetie." He spat the final word at her, putting as much anger and hate behind it as he could, hoping to keep her away from Dean, to stop her from focusing on him, from hurting him, from _killing_ him.

She smiled. "How's that?"

Sam froze up. He wasn't sure.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Dean drew the back of his hand across his face, scowling at the blood that was smeared across it as it brought it away. He didn't care about the blood, didn't care about what he was doing to himself. He only cared about two things, Sam and Ben, and at the moment, at least one of them was being threatened.

He barely registered what he was doing, barely noticed the spikes of pain that raked across his raw back, just knew that he had to get across the valley to save his son. The valley was filled with warring demons and psychics, holy water and varied bodily fluids flying across the small expanse, bodies falling, limbs dropping to the ground.

He pushed them away without touching them, pushed them with the same blind determination that had given him the ability to do so. He pushed them with the singular, overriding need to save what he had left, the only thing he had left. His soul, some brain cells… he didn't need them if it meant protecting his family.

Dean blazed a trail through the masses, shoving bodies both dead and alive aside with his mind, his eyes never leaving the crest of the hill, the body of his son as the boy shook in the grasp of a particularly bulky demon.

Every child was backed by a demon, monsters that Dean knew were merely waiting for Lilith's order to snap the kids' necks. He wasn't about to let that happen. He charged from the crowd, staggering a bit as he turned off whatever had been clearing his way through the war.

The hill was steep, but the hunter was determined, and determination could beat a forty-five degree incline any day of the week. He saw hope shining in young, wide eyes as he approached the group that Lilith had called forth in an attempt to stop the battle and claim her reign over what was left of the world.

He stormed up to the possessed man who had wrapped strong hands around Ben's shoulders, holding the boy in place, and stared at him. "Let go of my son."

The demon smirked. "Make me, pretty boy."

Dean shrugged. "Have it your way." He narrowed his eyes and focused on the big guy. The demon's hands flew away from Ben's shoulders as the man it was possessing was tossed through the air to roll down the back of the hill and into a tree.

Ben ran immediately to his father, wrapping trembling arms around the hunter's legs. The other demons tensed, backtracking their comrade's path until their black eyes rested on Dean. He glared at them, looking up and down the line that they formed on the crest of the hill, every feature of his face dark and dangerous.

Slowly, carefully, the demons took their ands from the children and backed away, toward their fallen counterpart and away from the fray.

Dean dropped to his knees and opened his arms, beckoning the group of children closer. They ran to him.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

She crossed her arms over her chest and stared at him, white eyes wide with wonder. "Well?" Her foot tapped out a rhythm in the dirt, a sign of her impatience.

Sam just stared at her. This was the new up-and-comer, the demon that had demolished a precinct and killed new-found allies, the thing that had been gunning for him since Jake had opened the Gate, the one that had dared to take his brother's soul.

She was old. She was powerful. She was Adam's first wife, Satan's spouse, a force to be reckoned with. There was more lore on her, in every nation, than there had any right to be. She was legendary.

And who was he? _What_ was he? Some random hick psychic from Kansas with a too-devoted brother and an obsessive late father. He refused his destiny, shunned his own blood, turned from what was asked of him.

He chased after normal even though he now knew he could never be. He shirked his duties and family while following selfish wants. He only stepped up to the plate when he saw no other way, nothing but his brother's blood and a white light so all-consuming that he wished he had given into it.

He was young. He was inexperienced. He was Mary's son, Dean's brother, a curse to all that he cared for. He was the favorite to win, the boy who would be king, the one the underworld had watched rise, fall, and rise again. He was nothing.

Lilith was waiting for an answer, for a plan, for action, and Sam was at a loss. He'd tried running from her, tried fighting her, had sicced a hellhound on her, and there she was, still staring at him with those mercilessly blank eyes, _waiting_. He couldn't kill her. There was no way.

He'd never felt so helpless before, not even when watching his brother getting ripped to shreds before his eyes. There had still been hope, still been the knife, still been that blind determination that he could save Dean.

His hope was gone. The knife was gone. He risked a glance in his brother's direction, smiling as he noted the throng of children surrounding the older man. Even over the distance, the blood that seeped through his clothing was visible, a stark reminder of what Sam had almost let happen again.

This time, he had saved his brother.

He would save them all.

The sounds of the fight reached his ears for the first time, the screams of the dying, the hiss of melting flesh as consecrated water touched evil, the primal shouts of pain and rage as demons and psychics clashed in a free-for-all melee.

They couldn't decide the war. He knew that now, with the same certainty he'd developed after his second trip to Hell, the trip that had left him open, his mental door kicked-in, unlocked, swinging slightly in the breeze of the back of his mind. The soldiers were never meant to fight. It was the leaders that would determine the outcome, the true winner of the world. It was the leaders that held the power to create and destroy. It was the leaders that had to fight to the death.

He almost resented Yellow-Eyes for leaving that particular tidbit out.

Lilith smiled, blood leaking out from between once-shining teeth. "You can't, can you? You can't do it. That's too bad, Sammy." She stepped forward. "See, you? You, I can't touch. But him?" She looked across the valley at Dean. "Him, I can't miss."

Sam started at the familiarity of the words, the pinprick of pain that wormed its way into his shoulder, a phantom bullet.

She owned the deals. She owned all the deals. She had owned Dean's. She had killed Dean, and now she was gunning for round two.

And there was nothing Sam could do about it.

He stared back across the valley, stared at his brother, at the children bound to be caught in the crossfire.

_"If you wanted, you could wipe her off the map without moving a muscle."_

_"You told me once to trust you to keep this thing in check, and now I do. You're not evil, Sam. Not at all." _

He hoped they were right, _prayed_ they were right. He only had one shot, one chance at making up for his past failure, to save lives, including the one most important to him.

Dean had told him he was a good person, the farthest thing from evil he had ever seen. Sam hadn't been sure whether to believe him. He didn't feel good. He felt like he'd been used, like he'd been set up, like evil had touched him, drawing a cold finger across his soul, tainting him for life.

But Dean would never lie to him. He had told Sam, in the last moment of the younger man's life, that he would patch him up, make him good as new. When Sam had risen from the grimy mattress, he'd had a fresh scar on his back and a new realization of just how far his brother would go to make good on a promise.

No, Dean didn't lie. Dean had seen his brother's soul, seen something that even Sam had never imagined could reside there. He had faith. He had trust. He was willing to take the burden until little brother was ready to pick it up, to stretch himself thin so that Sam could build up the confidence to do what was needed.

And he knew that he could do it now.

Lilith held her hand out toward the opposite hill, the place that would be Dean's final resting place if Sam refused to act, to take destiny by the horns, to make a _choice._

Sammy closed his eyes, let himself drift back into the farthest, darkest recesses of his mind.

He blew the door off its hinges.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Dean wasn't paying attention to the fighting. He was too busy focusing on the kids, the tiny bodies that had been dragged from South Dakota after witnessing the murders of their caregivers.

He only bothered to turn when Mike, the oldest of the group they'd left behind, pointed.

Dean turned his attention over his shoulder, to the other hill, the hill where he'd left Sam and Lilith alone in his blind quest to save his latest responsibility. He had to squint to see, the light emanating from the other peak was so bright.

His mind had barely registered that as a bad thing before he moved himself in front of the children, spreading his arms wide, ready to protect them from whatever the white-eyed bitch as doing.

Only, it wasn't Lilith.

Light spilled from Sam's body as the young hunter's head jerked back, turning his eyes to the sky. His mouth hung open, the white glare spearing upward from his eyes, mouth and nostrils as his arms spread wide at his sides, palms open toward the heavens.

Dean wasn't an expert on the supernatural, even after all of his years hunting it down. There was just too much to learn. Maybe, if Bobby had still been alive, or Rufus, or Missouri, anyone who'd been in the game longer than Dean, they would have known for sure. But they were dead. They were dad, and he couldn't ask them for their opinions.

It didn't matter though. Light spontaneously spilling from a human being couldn't be good, right?

The fact that it was spilling from his little brother made it somehow worse.

He yelled Sam's name, drawing attention to the younger man, to the light radiating from his body. The fighting stopped as heads turned to the psychic, mouths gaping, eyes bugging.

For a moment, there was no war, there were no armies, no soldiers, no psychics or demons, no good or evil. There was just a light, golden-white, spreading out from a tall body, growing in intensity, spreading out from the figure of the boy king, engulfing them all.

It washed over Dean, bright enough that he had to cover his eyes. The air charged around him as his heart pounded harder and harder, threatening to break in his chest with the weight of a sacrifice that Sam never should have had to make. His stomach dropped to the ground, bile rising in his throat as whatever force Sam had summoned surrounded him, pulling him in, ending it.

Lilith screamed.


	20. Animus

Technically, this was the last chapter... until my stupid brain made me write an epilogue, which you'll be getting on Monday. Till then, please enjoy the next-to-last chapter :)_

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_Chapter Twenty_

_Animus_

Spots swam before Dean's eyes, but he didn't care. He left the kids, turning his back on them and running full-tilt down the hill and into the quieted masses. The troops stood still, letting him push past, their eyes never leaving the hillside where the two bodies lay.

Dean barreled past Sarah's limp form, dropping to his knees beside his brother.

Sam's body lay at an odd angle, a tangle of long limbs. His eyes were closed, his face peaceful. His chest was still, unmoving, unable to draw any breath. Blood slicked his face in a single path from one nostril to his chin. Dean wiped it away.

The older hunter straightened the young man out, setting his arms and legs into a more natural position, blinking away the tears that burnt his eyes at the ease of the movements he was forcing on the body. There was no sign of protest, no sign of life.

There was no reason to hide the tears. He wouldn't be judged, not here, not now. Not by these _things_, the ones that had brought death to his family. He had never asked for this.

He sobbed. He sobbed, because he knew that was a lie. He _had_ asked for it, for Sam to take the lead, assume his rightful place, be all that he could be. Hell, he'd practically _demanded_ it. And now his brother was dead.

Dean pulled Sam into his arms, cradling him in an unknown impersonation of the younger man barely four months before. But where Sam had had hope, Dean had none. He wasn't special, couldn't do anything more than a few parlor tricks, and even those left him reeling.

There was no way to reverse this. The crossroads demon was dead. The demon that held the contracts was dead. He couldn't fix it. He could never fix it.

He felt a small hand on his shoulder, soft and young. He turned to see Ben standing behind him, tears streaming down a face that shouldn't have experienced so much loss in such a small span of time, such a short life.

He had his son. His _second_ son. The one that had been left to him by a dying woman who realized too late that lying had been wrong and she might never be forgiven. He'd forgiven, her, though. He'd taken his boy. He had his son.

Dean turned back to the boy in is arms. His _first _son. The one left to him by his father, shoved into his arms at the ripe old age of four. This was the boy he'd raised, the one that had somehow grown to resent him. This was the one that had left, only to come back again. This was the one he'd died for, the one he'd faced Hell for. This was the one that he'd promised to protect.

Sam was the one he had killed.

He curled away from Ben's touch, curled into his brother's body, and let the tears flow freely.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Sam Winchester stared down at his brother, watched the older man shrug the boy away, curl in on himself, close up against everything but the body held tightly in his hands.

It was interesting, having an out-of-body experience. Or, it would have been interesting, if it hadn't involved his death.

He still wasn't entirely sure how that had happened. He could remember opening himself up fully, letting the power take him, channeling it toward Lilith, desperate to stop her before she could hurt his family again. He had felt it flow through him, bursting from his brain and into his veins, from his veins through his skin. It had felt warm, had felt right, and in that single moment, he'd _known_ that Dean had told the truth. He wasn't evil. He could never be evil.

And then it had stopped. It had stopped, and when he had opened his eyes, it was to see Dean running toward him, toward his body.

Sam had been worried at first. Dean didn't _do_ alone well. But then Ben had walked up, had placed a hand on the older hunter's shoulder, and Sam had relaxed. Dean wasn't alone. He would never have to be alone again. He would take charge of the troops, take care of everything. Sam could rest easy.

His shadow spread out before him, which was odd, considering he wasn't exactly corporeal at the moment. He turned around, toward the odd light, and gasped.

o0o0o0o0o0o

Dean curled farther in on himself, sheltering Sam from the roving eyes of the troops, from the elements, from the horror of what they'd done.

He raked rough fingers through his brother's too-long hair, rocking gently back and forth- more of a comfort for himself than Sam. He stared into the still face, the pale face.

All was forgotten. His own pain, his own lacerations, everything but the swirling torrent of guilty emotion that reared its ugly head.

A large tear fell from Dean's eye onto his brother's cheek and he wiped it away with his thumb.

"Please," the hunter muttered, his voice broken and soft, weaker than he ever imagined it could sound. "Please, come back. Sammy, please."

He closed his eyes, his simple plea dying on his lips. What good was being a freak if he couldn't save his brother? What good was moving things without the detriment of touch if he couldn't pull Sam back?

What good was winning the war if he lost the most important thing in his life in the process?

As another tear plopped onto Sam's white cheek, Dean stilled his body and concentrated. Maybe he didn't have to see what he wanted to grab it. Maybe he could reach out and take it back anyway. Maybe he could still save his little brother.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o

They were waiting for him. His mom. His dad. Jess. Sarah. Everyone he'd loved and lost. Everyone that had loved him back.

Sam glanced back at his brother, almost crumbling under the sorrow that rolled off of the older man. He couldn't stay. He wanted to go. He wanted peace and safety and rest. Dean would be ok. Dean had Ben. He would move on.

Sam moved to join his family in the light, only to find that he couldn't. It was like something had a strong hold on his jacket sleeve, something that wouldn't budge, wouldn't let him go.

He spun around, looking for the culprit with the inhuman grip, but found nothing. He shrugged it off, took a step toward the light, and stopped.

It was there again, holding onto him, never letting go. He turned around, and immediately wished he had never looked back.

There was nothing on his arm, nothing anchoring Sam to the world of the living. That wasn't what worried him. It was the fact that time seemed to have stopped, that no one- not the demons, not the kids, not even Dean- was moving. It was the fact that he suddenly wasn't the only person in two places at once.

Dean seemed to be just as surprised as Sam was to be standing outside of his kneeling body. "Sammy?"

Sam just stared, unable to respond as he took in his brother's condition. Ragged cuts sopped blood down both ankles, over shredded feet that shouldn't have been able to support his weight. A large chunk of his side was missing, bone poking through the gaping hold that spilled blood over his body. His collar bone, starkly white against the sweat and grime that had settled on his face, stuck up at a ninety degree angle to its usual position. Blood trickled from his brother's mouth as the older man struggled to smile. "Sammy."

"Dean," the younger man finally managed to breathe. "Man, what the hell happened to you?"

He looked down at himself, his eyes going wide for a moment. He shrugged. "Hell."

Sam looked over his brother's shoulder. "Shouldn't you be…?"

Dean turned, looking back at the scene on the hillside. "I dunno. I think… I think I came to get you."

Sam shook his head. "That's not possible. You… this is…"

The older man smiled. "Man, you look good."

There was no way to respond to that but to look down at himself. Where Dean was covered in dirt, sweat, blood, and bone fragments, Sam seemed whole, not a scratch nor mark on his soul.

His soul…

He was dead. He was moving on, trapped between two worlds. Dean wasn't dead, shouldn't have been there.

"You have to leave. You have to go back."

"Not without you."

"No, Dean," he argued, "you can't. I'm gone, but you-"

"You don't get it," Dean said, an unflattering note of raw desperation in his voice. "You can't leave. Not yet."

"I'm dead."

The older man flinched. "Sammy, you have to help me."

"What?"

"You have to fix me."

Sam shook his head. "I don't… I don't understand."

Dean took a slow step forward, his broken feet protesting the movement. Sam was stung with a sudden pang of guilt-_I did that- _as he watched the older man struggle. Dean came to a wobbly stop, his body sagging with pain and fatigue. He held up his hands for Sam to see.

They should have been the most broken part of Dean's soul, nearly ripped off when he'd swung down toward the depths of Hell. Surprisingly enough, his hands were almost whole. A single, deep gash marred each wrist to the palm, but that was all. There were no bones popping out at odd angles, no fresh blood trickling across his skin. Just a slash that went clean through, but appeared to be healing.

"_Look_," Dean said, holding his hands closer to his brother, something like awe in his voice.

"What happened? Dean, what are trying to tell me?" The light behind him shone brightly, inviting, trying to pull him in. But his curiosity had been piqued. He had to stay, just to find out what his brother was getting at.

Dean's voice was soft and low, that astonished quality never leaving it. "You did this. You did it, Sam."

"Yeah, I know. And I'm sorry. I'm sorry, but I had to get you back."

The older man's face clouded with confusion. "No. Sam. _This._" He shook his hands slightly. "You fixed it. You fixed _me_. I didn't think anyone could." He sighed. "I thought this," he gestured down at his battered soul, "was it. I thought this was what I had to look forward to, but maybe not. I know it sounds crazy, ok, but I could _feel_ it happening. You can fix this, Sam, all of it. But you need to be here to do it."

Sammy shook his head. "You're crazy. Dean, I can't. It's too late. You were right, I could handle it. And I did. I killed her. Everything's gonna be all right now." He smiled. "Take care of Ben."

He turned back toward he light, toward his family, toward his eternity. He hated leaving Dean, hating walking away after everything they'd been through, but that light was so warm, so welcoming, so _nice._

A hand wrapped itself around his arm, fingers clutching tightly at the worn fabric of his jacket. Warm blood, sticky and wet, seeped through the sleeve to his skin.

Time seemed to stop again as Sam stood there, suspended by the feeling of his brother's blood, blood that had stopped flowing because Sam had fixed him. In that moment, he knew what Dean had gone through in Hell. He felt the pain, the hopelessness, the sheer panic rush through his body in a wave.

Grief hit him hard and fast, a torrent of emotion so strong that it threatened to bury him. He knew suddenly, as surely as he knew his own name, that there was something wrong with him. He was marred, covered in sweat, blood, and dirt. He was torn. He was broken, and no one ever stayed to fix him.

His shoulders strained under an invisible weight, a responsibility dumped on them before they were ready, a responsibility that bent and broke them, building him back up into something deformed, something that never could see its worth.

And suddenly, he knew. He knew what Dean had been talking about back at Bobby's, how he had known that Sam was good and pure and everything that he believed that he could never be.

Dean pulled his hand away, clutching it to his chest as old wounds reopened, spilling more blood down his already drenched shirt. What was left of it hung at an odd angle, flesh and bone split down the middle. It didn't even look like a hand anymore.

Sam stared at his brother, at what he was doomed- no, _damned_- to be for all eternity unless someone was willing to do something, unless someone was willing to fix him. Broken, bloody, dirty, unworthy. Sam had felt his brother's soul, had felt the weight of responsibility thrust upon him, the scars that years of rejection had left, the grooves that the life and soul of another had dug out of him.

He'd felt his brother's soul, and had found nothing good. There was only selfless dejection, misery and pain so deep that it cut at his still heart, threatened to tarnish his own spirit. There was merely a sliver of light, or happiness, of innocence and hopes and dreams and goals and purity left. He had put it there.

He'd felt his brother's soul, and because of that, he knew what he had to do.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Ben shook his father, no longer caring about avoiding the tender wounds that the hellhound had left on the man's back. All he knew was that his dad had gone deadly still, his breath slow and shallow, face paling as blood dripped steadily form his nose onto his brother's face.

Slowly, Dean drew in his breath with a hiss of pain, the first sign since he'd ducked his head that he was alive. He blinked, the world suddenly too bright around him. Almost as bright as Sam had shone before ending his life.

The hunter straightened up, his back protesting the movement with a sharp screech of pain that rattled down his spine. He turned to look at his son, wondering why the kid had been so worried.

He could vaguely remember standing up, talking to his brother, and then…

Dean pulled his hand gently from behind Sam's back, inspecting it for the large tear he could have sworn he'd seen there. The skin was clear of imperfections, slightly tanned and criss-crossed with a tiny network of scars.

"Dad?" Ben asked, shaking Dean out of his slight daze.

Dean shook his head. "Must have nodded off. You ok?"

"You were barely breathing."

The hunter nodded. "Yeah, sorry." He looked back at his brother, fighting back another wave of harsh tears as they clawed at his eyes, begging for release. He sighed. Ben was staring up at him with big eyes, trusting him to know the answers, to know what to do.

A single tear slipped out of his control, sliding down his nose and plopping onto Sam's cheek. He recognized the look, saw his brother in it. It was the same look Sammy had given him all throughout their childhood, especially when their father's explanations just wouldn't suffice.

In childhood, he'd had all the answers. Now, he was lost. He was sad and scared and so tired.

And Sam was dead.

Sam was dead, lying in his arms, long limbs hanging limply at his sides, spilling out of Dean's protective grip as the color slowly returned to his waxen face and his chest rose and fell in short, rhythmic breaths.

"Wait a minute…"

He leaned in close to his brother, pressing an ear softly against a chest that should have been cooling. Instead, it was warm, too warm to be dead. A strong heart beat a rhythm in Dean's ear as he listened, unable to keep a smile off his face.

"Sammy?"

He leaned away, giving his obviously not dead brother space to breathe. Sam's eyes fluttered open, confused green orbs darting back and forth as he got his bearings.

Dean helped the younger man sit up, still smiling like an idiot. "Thought I lost you, there."

Sam looked at him, his expression unreadable. "You don't remember?"

"Remember what?" Dean asked, unconsciously clenching his fingers into a fist, suddenly needing to make sure he still could.

The younger man dropped his voice. "I believe you. I know what you felt. I felt it, too."

Recognition dawned in Dean's eyes as he realized what his brother was talking about. "That wasn't a dream?"

Sammy grinned. "No. And I'm glad." He tried to stand, nearly toppling over in his attempt before Dean wrapped a strong arm around him and helped hoist him up. Once he'd gained his balance, Sam stepped away, slipping his arm carefully from the wounds on his brother's back.

They turned together to look into the valley, assess the damage, and deal with whatever was left of Lilith's army. Both brothers stared in awe at what they saw.

Every demon in the valley had hit its knees, bowing to the brothers, to Sam, to the winner of the war and their new leader.

"Well," Dean commented, wrapping an arm around his son and pulling the boy close to his legs. "That's one way to welcome a guy back from the dead."

Sam pulled in a choked breath. He thought about running away, of leaving someone else to deal with the responsibility that now knelt before him, and then he looked at Dean. He looked at Dean, and he saw the older man's soul staring at him with desperate eyes, pleading with bloody lips.

He stayed.

The demons stood, slowly gaining their feet, and stared up at their new leader, the boy king that had finally accepted his throne. A voice rose from the crowd. "What do we do now?"

Sam sighed. "Now," he said, looking around the valley, at the scattered bodies, the bloody puddles, the limp form of a woman he had loved. "Now?" He wasn't sure. He didn't know what he was doing, what took the top priority. They needed to help the wounded, to bury the dead. He needed to apologize to Sarah.

He looked at Dean, at the sharp lines carved down his back, the blood that had only recently stopped trickling from his nose, blood that was rolling slowly down Sam's own face. Suddenly, he knew what they had to do.

"Now," Sam said, smiling at his brother, "we rebuild."


	21. Epilogue: Rebuilt

Um. Wow. This is it. I can't believe this story is finally over. And right before I leave for school, too. Lucky break :)_

* * *

_

_Epilogue_

_Rebuilt_

Sam stared out the window, looking down at the gravel drive that led away from Bobby's house- _his_ house for the past two years. It was still hard for the psychic to believe that it had been that long since the plague had ravaged a world already at the brink of destruction. Two years that should have felt like an eternity had gone by in the blink of an eye, bringing about the reformation of society, the gradual subtraction of tents from the salvage yard as things got back to the way they had once been.

They'd cleared out the bodies, taken the cars off the roads, cleaned the houses. They had moved on, spread out from the small, dilapidated house on the outskirts of Sioux Falls. They'd taken their world back.

Sam smiled as a bright red mini-van pulled up the drive and stopped in front of the house, the door sliding open in anticipation.

The front door to the house banged back and Ben appeared in the yard, backpack slung over one shoulder. He turned and waved back toward the house, where Sam was sure the boy's father was standing to see him off to school. The eleven-year-old turned his face to the window, smiled, and waved up at his uncle, who waved back.

Ben turned back toward the van and jumped in, sliding his pack off his shoulder and pulling the door shut. The van turned, pulling out of the drive, and Sam caught a brief glimpse of the woman behind the wheel, a woman that, by all means, shouldn't have been alive.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o

_They had started cleaning up the mess, the demons dragging away the corpses of fallen psychics and abandoned hosts as Sam sat on the hillside and examined his brother's back._

_"They're not that deep," he said, his fingers gently ghosting over the tender skin around the wounds. "Not as deep as they could be, anyway. You feeling all right?"_

_Dean nodded. "Yeah. And shouldn't I be asking you that question?"_

_"What do you mean?"_

_The older man pulled his shirt back down over his head, wincing as the tacky fabric touched the open gashes. He pushed himself to his feet, using Ben for support. "Well, I'm not the one who went nuclear and usurped the throne."_

_Sam groaned. "I didn't _usurp_ anything."_

_"Killed the Queen Bitch." The younger man looked pointedly at his nephew. "What?" Dean asked. "You think he's never heard that word before? He's nine. He can have a colorful vocabulary if he wants to."_

_"You're a horrible father," Sam said, unable to hide a grin as he shook his head in mock disgust._

_Dean smiled and wrapped a protective arm around his son, his eyes flitting over the clean-up that was taking place around them in the aftermath of the war. He had to marvel at how quickly most members of Lilith's army turned their loyalty to his brother. He still wasn't entirely sure if that was a good thing or not, but decided to leave the internal debate for another day._

_Someone Dean didn't recognize came running up the hill toward them. He stopped about a foot in front of the trio, his body going rigid, hand flattening before flying to his head in a salute. "Sir?"_

_Sam sighed. "It's Sam. Call me Sam."_

_"Yes, sir. Uh, Sam."_

_"What is it?"_

_"She's alive."_

_Sammy narrowed his eyes, glancing toward Sarah's body. "She is?"_

_The demon shook his head. "Not her. I wouldn't be talking to you if she was still alive. It's the other one." He turned and pointed to the other hill, the small group crowded around something lying on the ground._

_"Meg's host?" Dean asked. "She's alive?"_

_The demon nodded. "Yes, sir. Breathing, at least."_

_The brothers glanced at each other before starting down the hill and into the massive clean-up that was taking place in the valley. They passed through the demons, which nodded and stepped aside as they walked, and climbed the hill on the other side._

_The group around the girl noticed them coming and stepped quickly away, giving her room to breathe. Sam knelt by the broken body. "Hey. You ok?"_

_The girl stared up at him with wide eyes. "I can't feel my legs."_

_A sudden pang of guilt rocked the psychic's system as he remembered lashing out at Meg, sending her tumbling down the stairs, where she landed with a broken neck. "All right. Let's take a look." He knew he shouldn't touch her, knew he shouldn't move her, but he couldn't help but feel responsible. He slid one hand carefully under her head, while the other supported her ruined neck._

_He didn't know what to do, was at a loss. He couldn't leave her there to rot, to waste away to nothing, but he couldn't take her back to Bobby's. The risk was just too great._

_He wished he could fix her, could undo the damage that he'd stupidly inflicted upon the innocent host._

_Sam sighed. There was nothing he could do, no matter how much he wanted to help. It wasn't like he could will her body to repair itself. She wasn't possessed, simple commands wouldn't work. He couldn't-_

_He gasped as he felt something flow through him, something that rushed from the back of his mind to the tips of his fingers, flooding from his body into hers. Of course. He's forgotten to close the door. Hell, there wasn't even a door left anymore, just a gaping hole that a flood of power had rushed through, ending the war and his life._

_The girl's body stiffened in his grasp, her still form glowing with the same light that had enveloped him after he'd surrendered to what he was, what he could do._

_The light faded, the girl relaxed, and Sam pulled his hands away, suddenly aware of the sensation that he was being watched. He turned to find Dean staring at him._

_"What the hell was that?" the older man asked._

_Sam shrugged. "Beats me."_

_The girl sat up. "I can feel my legs again." All eyes turned to her as she smiled and got her feet. "You healed me."_

_The brothers looked at each other. "Cool," Dean said. Sammy had to agree. It was kind of cool. For the first time since he'd started dreaming of his girlfriend's death, he began to wonder what else he could do._

_And then the girl coughed._

o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Two years seemed like a lifetime to Sam. It had been two years of fixing things, getting everything in order, accepting what he had become.

Dean called him the Mayor of Freakville. He couldn't help but agree.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

_The girl's name was Amy. She had told him that between coughing fits. It turned out that Sam's apparent healing ability couldn't clear the mark on her soul, couldn't wipe the infection off the face of the earth._

_Amy was going to die. Everybody knew it. The demon that had been keeping her alive had fled, leaving her to face disease and death._

_He had led the armies, now both apparently willing to follow him, back to the salvage yard, carrying Amy most of the way as her body turned on her. The first thing he'd done upon his arrival had been getting her a bed, laying her out flat, and waiting._

_Sam couldn't help but feel the guilt for her situation. And this time, he was sure that there was nothing he could do to ease her suffering. He had tried, but nothing had worked._

_And then Dean had voiced his brilliant plan for the girl's salvation. Sam had been standing in the doorway to the room he'd set her in, watching over her as he had since she'd originally fallen ill, when he'd felt a presence beside him._

_Dean had simply stood there for a while, as if building up the courage to say what needed to be said. Finally, he found his voice and took the plunge._

_"You can fix this."_

_"How?" Sam asked, his eyes never leaving the dying girl's body as she slept._

_Dean took a deep breath. "Immunity's carried in the blood, right?"_

_"So?"_

_"So, people with the right blood don't get sick."_

_"And?"_

_"And," Dean said. "You've probably got the biggest dose of the vaccine in you right now." He paused, searching his brother for signs of anger at the suggestion. "Maybe it's time you share the love."_

_Sam finally turned to him. "I'm not doing that."_

_"You're not gonna save her life? Seriously? After everything we've been through?" Dean shook his head. "Guess I could find someone else. Yellow-Eyes probably got to a couple of kids before we stopped him. I'll just slice some cute little two-year-old's arm open."_

_The younger man sighed. "I'm not gonna ruin her life like that. Don't you get it? This isn't good. It's tainted blood."_

_"It's saving blood." He stepped closer to the psychic, the boy king, the new leader of the demon world. "Don't you get it? All of those people out there, everyone that's possessed… you could give them their freedom back. You could save them from spending the rest of their lives as slaves. And if it travels in the blood, they can have kids without fear. I mean, we should probably try to repopulate the world, right?"_

_Sam sighed again, turning back to the girl in the bed. His brother had a point, had obviously been itching to try this since they'd lost Bobby, and he wasn't going to give up without a fight. "Give me your knife."_

_Dean smiled, whipping out a pocket knife and flipping it open before handing it to his brother. "Knew you'd cave."_

_"Shut up."_

_Sam walked into the room, trying to keep his steps as soft as possible. Amy stirred, rolling over in the bed to look up at him with bloodshot eyes. "Sam?"_

_"Yeah," he said. "How ya feeling?"_

_She attempted to grin, and failed. "Like I've maybe got a day left."_

_"Maybe more," he muttered. "I need you to open your mouth for me, ok?"_

_A look of confusion crossed her face, but she did as she was told, parting dry lips and leaning her head back on the pillow. Sam glanced back at his brother before rolling up his sleeve and drawing the knife across his arm, slicing the skin under the scar that their first encounter with Gordon Walker had left._

_He turned his arm slighting, watching with disgust as the blood dripped slowly into the girl's open mouth. She stared up at him through a haze of sickness. "What was that for?"_

_"Hopefully," he said, pulling his arm back toward his body, "a cure."_

o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Amy had been in college when Meg had found her and forced her to drop out. She'd been studying to become a teacher. She was using the three years of classes she'd been able to take to educate the children in the town, playing teacher for the rag-tag group of all ages.

Obviously, she had lived. And, obviously, Dean had found a way to spread the love, breaking into a near-by hospital and stealing syringes, offering up life to anyone who wanted it.

Sam had pointed out that the demons wouldn't be lining up to abandon their hosts, but that hadn't been a problem. All he'd had to do was announce the plan, and order the demons that weren't welcome to leave the bodies. They had hung around, of course, sticking close to their leader, assuming corporeal forms if they were powerful enough.

Ruby had gotten back about a week after he had, cooing her congratulations and again referring to him as the Anti-Christ. He had been about to argue with her when she suddenly hit her knees before him, bowing her head. She'd been running small errands for him and Dean ever since.

Meg was still MIA. Ruby believed she'd been scared enough to go to Lawrence and through the open Gate. Dean hadn't taken that news well, and sent a group out to close the doors to Hell, once and for all. They all agreed that they never should have been opened in the first place.

The psychic started and turned as footsteps pounded down the hallway outside of his room. He'd been lost in thought, lost in the past. He smiled as Dean walked in. "Hey."

"Hey." The older man walked up beside him, staring out the window at the town that lay beyond the salvage yard, smirking as a black cloud of smoke rose above the houses and darted overhead. "Hard to believe, huh?"

Sam shook his head. "Still can't get over it." Something tickled at the back of his mind, an urgent need, a request. He sighed. "What's wrong now?"

"Remember that storm that blew through yesterday?"

"How could I forget?" Lightning had split the sky, the wind had blown over almost half the trees near the house, and the grocery store had caught fire.

"Well, the lightning might have knocked something down, 'cause half the town doesn't have power."

The younger man rolled his eyes. "Man. What else could go wrong?"

"Hey, I told Mark not to complain about the lights going out. I mean, there are worse things that could happen, right? But does he listen? No. He wants someone on it as soon as freakin' possible." Dean shook his head. "Told him he was lucky we even have power in the first place."

Sam grinned. "I'll get on it later today."

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

_Dean sighed, staring up at the darkened light fixture. "We need to find some way to get the power back on," he said for the hundredth time since they'd returned from war._

_"Get the power back on," Sam mocked, "save the hosts. You know, you _could_ do some of this."_

_"Hey, I lugged your heavy ass upstairs when you passed out from blood loss."_

_"Which was your fault in the first place," Sam reminded him. "Besides, I don't know what you want me to do about it. Not like I'm an electrician."_

_Dean sighed again and laid his head on the kitchen table. They'd been back for a couple of weeks, long enough for Amy to fully recover, and there was still a lot to do. Mostly, Sam just wanted to focus on getting the tents out of his front yard. Dean wanted to make sure the houses in the near-by town could sustain life before sending the general public away._

_More than anything, though, Sam just wanted a little time alone, a chance to sneak away and play around. The door was off the hinges, power flooding every part of his brain, coursing with his healing blood through his veins._

_Dean had been right. He wasn't evil. He could feel that now. The demon, his father, and even his brother had spent years putting ideas into his head, and now that he had discovered their initial beliefs about him to have been false, he wanted to see what he could do._

_He gazed up at the lamp that hung over the table, his mind wandering. He wasn't an electrician, but maybe he didn't have to be. He grinned as an idea hit him. "Where's the fuse box?"_

_"Basement. Why?"_

_"Come with me," Sam said, jumping from his seat._

_"Ok. Why?"_

_"Want someone to be there in case I electrocute myself."_

_"Oh," Dean rolled his eyes, "well, then, I'm already liking this idea."_

_The brothers stumbled down the stairs and into the darkened basement, their hands brushing the walls as they searched the blackness for the fuse box._

_"Mind filling me in, here, Sammy?"_

_Sam shrugged, not that his brother could see it. "Got an idea."_

_"You know flipping a few switches down here won't work if the main power's off in the town, right?"_

_The younger man didn't bother to respond. He'd found what he was looking for. He stretched out a hand, placing his palm against the front of the box, not even bothering to pull back the cover. He ducked is head and closed his eyes, concentrating on what he needed to do._

_He felt it again, that power, strong, but timid with lack of use. He reigned it in, gathered it up, forced it out in a single blast that tingled from his head to his chest to his arm to his fingertips, spreading out as it hit the fuse box and sparked the electricity in the house back into bright life._

_Sam jumped away as the box shocked him back, a small jolt to tell him that he was done. He looked at Dean, trying to keep the smile off his face as he gauged the older man's reaction._

_"I take it back," Dean said, giving Sam permission to grin with his own expression of happiness. "Guess you can."_

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Dean nodded, still staring out at the town. "We did the right thing, right? All of this, it's good?"

"Yeah. I think it is."

"Good." The older man turned to leave.

"Hey, Dean?"

He didn't turned back around, simply stopped in his tracks. "Yeah?"

"I'm not sure about that."

"What do you mean?"

"There's still something I need to see."

"What?" He started to spin back around as Sam reached out and wrapped a hand around his arm. Both boys stilled instantly, Dean's eyes going wide as Sam's closed in concentration.

The world around them seemed to stop, the breeze no longer rustling through the leaves in the trees, the far-off noises of cars, of humans, of civilization dying down to nothing as two bodies fell lifelessly to the floor.

Dean watched himself fall to the side before turning still-shocked eyes to his brother. "What the _hell_, dude? You gotta stop this. It can't be good for us."

Sam smiled. "Dean, look."

"Yeah, I saw. What gives you the right to rip my freakin' _soul_ out of my freakin' _body_ whenever the spirit moves you? Huh?"

"Look," Sam urged again, pointing this time.

Dean rolled his eyes and glanced down at himself. "Wha-? Oh." He looked back up at Sam, a nervous smile creeping across his face. "Well, I'll be damned."

The phrase elicited a laugh from the younger man. That seemed to be the farthest thing from what Dean was. He was no longer bleeding, the wounds that Hell had inflicted having healed over sometime in the two years that they'd spent running the new world together.

Dean looked whole, his body clean, clothing no longer shredded. His bones had mended, popping back into flesh that didn't even appear to be scarred. There was only one indication that any damage had ever been done to the older man's soul.

Still grinning, Dean reached up with an unmarred hand and wiped the last of the blood from his mouth. "Suppose you want me to thank you now?"

"A little gratitude would be nice," Sam said, still unable to believe his brother's condition. "What do you want to do? Bow before me? Kiss my feet? Perhaps wallow in my glory?"

Dean raised a hand and showed off a gesture that was _definitely_ not a form of praise.

"Oh, thank you, my adoring public," the younger man said. "Just what I always wanted."

His brother smirked. "You gonna stand here soul-searching all day, or are you gonna fix this?"

Sam smiled. "Nothing left to fix. We did it."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Spare me the chick-flick."

The psychic ignored his brother and stepped away from his fallen body, wrapping warm arms around the older man, who stiffened in the embrace. It took him a moment to relax, to let his guard down, to let everything wash over the younger man with the return of the gesture.

The same sorrow from before was still present in the older man's touch, but it was masked now. It was fading, fading because of two years of close quarters, of life, of happiness, of family. There was a goodness there Sam hadn't been able to see before through the blood and sweat and tears. He was glad to finally find it.

He'd opened a door in his mind, had let out things that he'd once deemed unspeakably evil. He'd tried to lock them back up, but been unable to find the key. He'd finally realized that was a good thing.

Without the power brought by a demonic bloodline, he never would have been able to save his brother, to save the world. Hope would have been lost and Lilith would have risen to true power. Dean was right. A world ruled by something not-quite-yet-still-completely human was better. It was safer. It was warmer.

Sam had blown the door away, knocked it clean off its hinges, and nearly lost his life because of it. He'd nearly rendered his brother unfixable.

Time had a way of healing wounds, though, and Dean was living, breathing proof of that. Sam supposed he was, too.

Maybe he couldn't close the door. Maybe he could never have normal. Maybe that didn't matter anymore. He had done right, done good, and he wouldn't change a thing. He was willing to step up and embrace his destiny, to walk down that long road, the road less traveled by, and he would never-

"Uh, Sammy?"

"Yeah, Dean?"

"You can let go of me now."

"Oh."

Never look back.

* * *

The End.

Wow, what a ride. Thank you all so much for reading and reviewing and enjoying. Now for the question of the day: now that it's all over, what do you think?

Michelle Shavlik


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